THE 

LIVING  PRESENT 


GERTRUDE 
ATH  E  RTON 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


THE  LIVING  PRESENT 


THE    MARQUISE   D*ANDIGNE 

President  Le   Bien — Etre   du   Blesse 


THE  LIVING 
PRESENT 

The  Work  of  French  Women  in  War  Time 
By  GERTRUDE  ATHERTON 


With  Illustrations  from  Photographs 


A.   L.   BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  Arrangements  with  FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
GERTRUDE  ATHERTON 


All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation 
into  foreign  languages. 


TO 

"ETERNAL  FRANCE" 


1181264 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 
FRENCH  WOMEN  IN  WAR  TIME 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    MADAME  BALLI  AND  THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"  .  i 

II    THE  SILENT  ARMY 24 

III  THE  MUNITION  MAKERS 34 

IV  MADEMOISELLE  JAVAL  AND  THE  ECLOPES  ...  45 
V    THE  WOMAN'S  OPPORTUNITY 64 

VI    MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON 73 

VII    MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON  (Continued)  ....  91 

VIII    VALENTINE  THOMPSON 99 

IX    MADAME  WADDINGTON 119 

X    THE  COUNTESS  D'HAUSSONVILLE 133 

XI    THE  MARQUISE  D'ANDIGNE 152 

XII    MADAME  CAMILLE  LYON 155 

XIII  BRIEF  ACCOUNTS  OF  GREAT  WORK:  THEDUCHESSE 

D'Uzis;  THE  DUCHESSE  DE  ROHAN;  COUNTESS 
GREIFULHE;  MADAME  PAQUIN;  MADAME  PAUL 

DuPuv 162 

XIV  ONE  OF  THE  MOTHERLESS 171 

XV    THE  MARRAINES 183 

XVI    PROBLEMS  FOR  THE  FUTURE 186 


viii  CONTENTS 

BOOK  II 

FEMINISM  IN  PEACE  AND  WAR 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE  ....  205 

II  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE 231 

III  THE  REAL  VICTIMS  OF  "SOCIETY" 260 

IV  ONE  SOLUTION  OF  A  GREAT  PROBLEM     ....  278 
V  FOUR  OF  THE  HIGHLY  SPECIALIZED  :  MARIA  DE  BAR- 

RIL;  ALICE  BERTA  JOSEPHINE  KAUSER;  BELLE  DA 
COSTA  GREENE;  HONORE  WILLSIE    ....     286 
ADDENDUM 301 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  Marquise  d'Andigne,  President  Le  Bien — Etre  du 
BlessS Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

Madame  Balli,  President  Reconfort  du  Soldat  ....  4 

Delivering  the  Milk  in  Rheims 26 

Making  the  Shells 38 

Societ6  L'Eclairage  Electrique,  Usine  de  Lyon  ....  42 

Where  the  Artists  Dine  for  Fifty  Centimes 64 

A  Railway  Depot  Cantine 130 

Delivering  the  Post 186 


BOOK  I 
FRENCHWOMEN    IN    WAR   TIME 


IF  this  little  book  reads  more  like  a  memoir  than  a 
systematic  study  of  conditions,  my  excuse  is  that  I 
remained  too  long  in  France  and  was  too  much  with 
the  people  whose  work  most  interested  me,  to  be  capa- 
ble, for  a  long  while,  at  any  rate,  of  writing  a  de- 
tached statistical  account  of  their  remarkable  work. 

In  the  first  place,  although  it  was  my  friend  Owen 
Johnson  who  suggested  this  visit  to  France  and  per- 
sonal investigation  of  the  work  of  her  women,  I  went 
with  a  certain  enthusiasm,  and  the  longer  I  remained 
the  more  enthusiastic  I  became.  My  idea  in  going 
was  not  to  gratify  my  curiosity  but  to  do  what  I  could 
for  the  cause  of  France  as  well  as  for  my  own  coun- 
try by  studying  specifically  the  war-time  work  of  its 
women  and  to  make  them  better  known  to  the  women 
of  America. 

The  average  American  woman  who  never  has  trav- 
eled in  Europe,  or  only  as  a  flitting  tourist,  is  firm  in 
the  belief  that  all  Frenchwomen  are  permanently  occu- 
pied with  fashions  or  intrigue.  If  it  is  impossible  to 
eradicate  this  impression,  at  least  the  new  impression 
I  hope  to  create  by  a  recital  at  first  hand  of  what  a 
number  of  Frenchwomen  (who  are  merely  carefully 
selected  types)  are  doing  for  their  country  in  its  pres- 
ent ordeal,  should  be  all  the  deeper. 

American  women  were  not  in  the  least  astonished 
at  the  daily  accounts  which  reached  them  through  the 
medium  of  press  and  magazine  of  the  magnificent  war 

xi 


services  of  the  British  women.  That  was  no  more 
than  was  to  have  been  expected.  Were  they  not,  then, 
Anglo-Saxons,  of  our  own  blood,  still  closer  to  the 
fountain-source  of  a  nation  that  has,  with  whatever 
reluctance,  risen  to  every  crisis  in  her  fate  with  a 
grim,  stolid,  capable  tenacity  that  means  the  inevitable 
defeat  of  any  nation  so  incredibly  stupid  as  to  defy 
her? 

If  word  had  come  over  that  the  British  women 
were  quite  indifferent  to  the  war,  were  idle  and  friv- 
olous and  insensible  to  the  clarion  voice  of  their  in- 
domitable country's  needs,  that,  if  you  like,  would 
have  made  a  sensation.  But  knowing  the  race  as  they 
did — and  it  is  the  only  race  of  which  the  genuine 
American  does  know  anything — he,  or  she,  accepted 
the  leaping  bill  of  Britain's  indebtedness  to  her  brave 
and  easily  expert  women  without  comment,  although, 
no  doubt,  with  a  glow  of  vicarious  pride. 

But  quite  otherwise  with  the  women  of  France.  In 
the  first  place  there  was  little  interest.  They  were, 
after  all,  foreigners.  Your  honest  dyed-in-the-wool 
American  has  about  the  same  contemptuous  tolerance 
for  foreigners  that  foreigners  have  for  him.  They 
are  not  Americans  (even  after  they  immigrate  and 
become  naturalized),  they  do  not  speak  the  same  lan- 
guage in  the  same  way,  and  all  accents,  save  perhaps 
a  brogue,  are  offensive  to  an  ear  tuned  to  nasal 
rhythms  and  to  the  rich  divergencies  from  the  normal 
standards  of  their  own  tongue  that  distinguish  differ- 
ent sections  of  this  vast  United  States  of  America. 

But  the  American  mind  is,  after  all,  an  open  mind. 


Such  generalities  as,  "The  Frenchwomen  are  quite 
wonderful,"  "are  doing  marvelous  things  for  their 
country  during  this  war,"  that  floated  across  the  ex- 
pensive cable  now  and  again,  made  little  or  no  impres- 
sion on  any  but  those  who  already  knew  their  France 
and  could  be  surprised  at  no  resource  or  energy  she 
might  display;  but  Owen  Johnson  and  several  other 
men  with  whom  he  talked,  including  that  ardent 
friend  of  France,  Whitney  Warren,  felt  positive  that 
if  some  American  woman  writer  with  a  public,  and 
who  was  capable  through  long  practice  in  story  writ- 
ing, of  selecting  and  composing  facts  in  conformance 
with  the  economic  and  dramatic  laws  of  fiction,  would 
go  over  and  study  the  work  of  the  Frenchwomen  at 
first  hand,  and,  discarding  generalities,  present  specific 
instances  of  their  work  and  their  attitude,  the  result 
could  not  fail  to  give  the  intelligent  American  woman 
a  different  opinion  of  her  French  sister  and  enlist  her 
sympathy. 

I  had  been  ill  or  I  should  have  gone  to  England 
soon  after  the  outbreak  of  the  war  and  worked  with 
my  friends,  for  I  have  always  looked  upon  England 
as  my  second  home,  and  I  have  as  many  friends  there 
as  here.  If  it  had  not  been  for  Mr.  Johnson  and  Mr. 
Warren,  no  doubt  I  should  have  gone  to  England 
within  the  next  two  or  three  months.  But  their  rep- 
resentations aroused  my  enthusiasm  and  I  determined 
to  go  to  France  first,  at  all  events. 

My  original  intention  was  to  remain  in  France  for 
a  month,  gathering  my  material  as  quickly  as  possible, 
and  then  cross  to  England.  It  seemed  to  me  that  if 

xiii 


I  wrote  a  book  that  might  be  of  some  service  to  France 
I  should  do  the  same  thing  for  a  country  to  which  I 
was  not  only  far  more  deeply  attached  but  far  more 
deeply  indebted. 

I  remained  three  months  and  a  third  in  France — 
from  May  9th,  1916,  to  August  igth — and  I  did  not 
go  to  England  for  two  reasons.  I  found  that  it  was 
more  of  an  ordeal  to  get  to  London  from  Paris  than 
to  return  to  New  York  and  sail  again;  and  I  heard 
that  Mrs.  Ward  was  writing  a  book  about  the  women 
of  England.  For  me  to  write  another  would  be  what 
is  somewhat  gracelessly  called  a  work  of  supereroga- 
tion. 

I  remained  in  France  so  long  because  I  was  never 
so  vitally  interested  in  my  life.  I  could  not  tear  my- 
self away,  although  I  found  it  impossible  to  put  my 
material  into  shape  there.  Not  only  was  I  on  the  go 
all  day  long,  seeing  this  and  that  ceuvre,  having  per- 
sonal interviews  with  heads  of  important  organiza- 
tions, taken  about  by  the  kind  and  interested  friends 
my  own  interest  made  for  me,  but  when  night  came  I 
was  too  tired  to  do  more  than  enter  all  the  informa- 
tion I  had  accumulated  during  the  day  in  a  notebook, 
and  then  go  to  bed.  I  have  seldom  taken  notes,  but  I 
was  determined  that  whatever  else  my  book  might 
be  it  should  at  least  be  accurate,  and  I  also  collected 
all  the  literature  (leaflets,  pamphlets,  etc.)  of  the 
various  ceuvres  (as  all  these  war  relief  organizations 
are  called)  and  packed  them  into  carefully  super- 
scribed large  brown  envelopes  with  a  meticulousness 
that  is,  alas,  quite  foreign  to  my  native  disposition. 

xiv 


When,  by  the  way,  I  opened  my  trunk  to  pack  it 
and  saw  those  dozen  or  more  large  square  brown  en- 
velopes I  was  appalled.  They  looked  so  important,  so 
sinister,  they  seemed  to  mutter  of  State  secrets,  war 
maps,  spy  data.  I  knew  that  trunks  were  often 
searched  at  Bordeaux,  and  I  knew  that  if  mine  were 
those  envelopes  never  would  leave  France.  I  should 
be  fortunate  to  sail  away  myself. 

But  I  must  have  my  notes.  To  remember  all  that 
I  had  from  day  to  day  gathered  was  an  impossibility. 
I  have  too  good  a  memory  not  to  distrust  it  when  it 
comes  to  a  mass  of  rapidly  accumulated  information ; 
combined  with  imagination  and  enthusiasm  it  is  sure 
to  play  tricks. 

But  I  had  an  inspiration.  The  Ministry  of  War 
had  been  exceedingly  kind  to  me.  Convinced  that  I 
was  a  "Friend  of  France,"  they  had  permitted  me  to 
go  three  times  into  the  War  Zone,  the  last  time  send- 
ing me  in  a  military  automobile  and  providing  an 
escort.  I  had  been  over  to  the  War  Office  very  often 
and  had  made  friends  of  several  of  the  politest  men 
on  earth. 

I  went  out  and  bought  the  largest  envelope  to  be 
found  in  Paris.  Into  this  I  packed  all  those  other  big 
brown  envelopes  and  drove  over  to  the  Ministere  de  la 
Guerre.  I  explained  my  predicament.  Would  they 
seal  it  with  the  formidable  seal  of  the  War  Office  and 
write  Propagande  across  it?  Of  course  if  they  wished 
I  would  leave  my  garnerings  for  a  systematic  search. 
They  merely  laughed  at  this  unusual  evidence  on  my 
part  of  humble  patience  and  submission.  The  French 

xv 


are  the  acutest  people  in  the  world.  By  this  time  these 
preternaturally  keen  men  in  the  War  Office  knew  me 
better  than  I  knew  myself.  If  I  had,  however  uncon- 
sciously and  in  my  deepest  recesses,  harbored  a  treach- 
erous impulse  toward  the  country  I  so  professed  to 
admire  and  to  desire  to  serve,  or  if  my  ego  had  been 
capable  of  sudden  tricks  and  perversions,  they  would 
long  since  have  had  these  lamentable  deformities,  my 
spiritual  hare-lip,  ticketed  and  docketed  with  the  rest 
of  my  dossier. 

As  it  was  they  complied  with  my  request  at  once, 
gave  me  their  blessing,  and  escorted  me  to  the  head 
of  the  stair — no  elevators  in  this  great  Ministere  de 
la  Guerre  and  the  Service  de  Sante  is  at  the  top  of 
the  building.  I  went  away  quite  happy,  more  devoted 
to  their  cause  than  ever,  and  easy  in  my  mind  about 
Bordeaux — where,  by  the  way,  my  trunks  were  not 
opened. 

Therefore,  that  remarkable  experience  in  France 
is  altogether  still  so  vivid  to  me  that  to  write  about 
it  reportorially,  with  the  personal  equation  left  out, 
would  be  quite  as  impossible  as  it  is  for  me  to  refrain 
from  execrating  the  Germans.  When  I  add  that  dur- 
ing that  visit  I  grew  to  love  the  French  people  (whom, 
in  spite  of  many  visits  to  France,  I  merely  had  ad- 
mired coolly  and  impersonally)  as  much  as  I  abom- 
inate the  enemies  of  the  human  race,  I  feel  that  the 
last  word  has  been  said,  and  that  my  apology  for 
writing  what  may  read  like  a  memoir,  a  chronicle  of 
personal  reminiscences,  will  be  understood  and  for- 
given. G.  A. 

xvi 


THE  LIVING  PRESENT 


MADAME  BALLI  AND  THE  "COMFORT 
PACKAGE" 


ONE  of  the  most  striking  results  of  the  Great 
War  has  been  the  quickening  in  thousands  of 
European  women  of  qualities  so  long  dormant  that 
they  practically  were  unsuspected.  As  I  shall  tell  in 
a  more  general  article,  the  Frenchwomen  of  the  mid- 
dle and  lower  bourgeoisie  and  of  the  farms  stepped 
automatically  into  the  shoes  of  the  men  called  to  the 
colors  in  August,  1914,  and  it  was,  in  their  case, 
merely  the  wearing  of  two  pairs  of  shoes  instead  of 
one,  and  both  of  equal  fit.  The  women  of  those  clear- 
ly defined  classes  are  their  husbands'  partners  and  co- 
workers,  and  although  physically  they  may  find  it 
more  wearing  to  do  the  work  of  two  than  of  one,  it 
entails  no  particular  strain  on  their  mental  faculties 
or  change  in  their  habits  of  life.  Moreover,  France 
since  the  dawn  of  her  history  has  been  a  military  na- 
tion, and  generation  after  generation  her  women  have 


2  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

been  called  upon  to  play  their  important  role  in  war, 
although  never  on  so  vast  a  scale  as  now. 

Contrary  to  the  prevailing  estimate  of  the  French — 
an  estimate  formed  mainly  from  sensational  novels 
and  plays,  or  during  brief  visits  to  the  shops  and 
boulevards  of  Paris — the  French  are  a  stolid,  stoical, 
practical  race,  abnormally  acute,  without  illusions,  and 
whose  famous  ebullience  is  all  in  the  top  stratum. 
There  is  even  a  certain  melancholy  at  the  root  of  their 
temperament,  for,  gay  and  pleasure  loving  as  they  are 
on  the  surface,  they  are  a  very  ancient  and  a  very  wise 
people.  Impatient  and  impulsive,  they  are  capable  of 
a  patience  and  tenacity,  a  deep  deliberation  and  cau- 
tion, which,  combined  with  an  unparalleled  mental 
alertness,  brilliancy  without  recklessness,  bravery 
without  bravado,  spiritual  exaltation  without  senti- 
mentality (which  is  merely  perverted  animalism),  a 
curious  sensitiveness  of  mind  and  body  due  to  over- 
breeding,  and  a  white  flame  of  patriotism  as  steady 
and  dazzling  as  an  arc-light,  has  given  them  a  glor- 
ious history,  and  makes  them,  by  universal  consent, 
preeminent  among  the  warring  nations  to-day. 

They  are  intensely  conservative  and  their  mental 
suppleness  is  quite  as  remarkable.  Economy  is  one 
of  the  motive  powers  of  their  existence,  the  solid 
pillars  upon  which  their  wealth  and  power  are  built; 
and  yet  Paris  has  been  not  only  the  home  and  the 
patron  of  the  arts  for  centuries,  but  the  arbiter  of 
fashion  for  women,  a  byword  for  extravagance,  and 
a  forcing-house  for  a  thousand  varieties  of  pleasure. 


THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"  3 

No  race  is  so  paradoxical,  but  then  France  is  the 
genius  among  nations.  Antiquity,  and  many  invasions 
of  her  soil  have  given  her  an  inviolable  solidity,  and 
the  temperamental  gaiety  and  keen  intelligence  which 
pervades  all  classes  have  kept  her  eternally  young. 
She  is  as  far  from  decadence  as  the  crudest  com- 
munity in  the  United  States  of  America. 

To  the  student  of  French  history  and  character 
nothing  the  French  have  done  in  this  war  is  surpris- 
ing; nevertheless  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  a  fresh 
revelation  every  day  during  my  sojourn  in  France  in 
the  summer  of  1916.  Every  woman  of  every  class 
(with  a  few  notable  exceptions  seen  for  the  most 
part  in  the  Ritz  Hotel)  was  working  at  something  or 
other:  either  in  self-support,  to  relieve  distress,  or  to 
supplement  the  efforts  and  expenditures  of  the  Gov- 
ernment (two  billion  francs  a  month)  ;  and  it  seemed 
that  I  never  should  see  the  last  of  those  relief  organ- 
izations of  infinite  variety  known  as  "oeuvres." 

Some  of  this  work  is  positively  creative,  much  is 
original,  and  all  is  practical  and  indispensable.  As 
the  most  interesting  of  it  centers  in  and  radiates  from 
certain  personalities  whom  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
meet  and  to  know  as  well  as  their  days  and  mine 
would  permit,  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  the  surest  way 
of  vivifying  any  account  of  the  work  itself  is  to  make 
its  pivot  the  central  figure  of  the  story.  So  I  will 
begin  with  Madame  Balli. 


4  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

n 

To  be  strictly  accurate,  Madame  Balli  was  born  in 
Smyrna,  of  Greek  Hood;  but  Paris  can  show  no  purer 
type  of  Parisian,  and  she  has  never  willingly  passed 
a  day  out  of  France.  During  her  childhood  her 
brother  (who  must  have  been  many  years  older  than 
herself)  was  sent  to  Paris  as  Minister  from  Greece, 
filling  the  post  for  thirty  years;  and  his  mother  fol- 
lowed with  her  family.  Madame  Balli  not  only  was 
brought  up  in  France,  but  has  spent  only  five  hours 
of  her  life  in  Greece;  after  her  marriage  she  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  see  the  land  of  her  ancestors,  and 
her  husband — who  was  an  Anglo-Greek — amiably 
took  her  to  a  hotel  while  the  steamer  on  which  they 
were  journeying  to  Constantinople  was  detained  in 
the  harbor  of  Athens. 

Up  to  the  outbreak  of  the  war  she  was  a  woman 
of  the  world,  a  woman  of  fashion  to  her  finger-tips, 
a  reigning  beauty  always  dressed  with  a  costly  and 
exquisite  simplicity.  Some  idea  of  the  personal  love- 
liness which,  united  to  her  intelligence  and  charm, 
made  her  one  of  the  conspicuous  figures  of  the  cap- 
ital, may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  her  British 
husband,  an  art  connoisseur  and  notable  collector,  was 
currently  reported  deliberately  to  have  picked  out  the 
most  beautiful  girl  in  Europe  to  adorn  his  various 
mansions. 

Madame  Balli  has  black  eyes  and  hair,  a  white  skin, 
a  classic  profile,  and  a  smile  of  singular  sweetness  and 


MADAME    BALLI 

President  Re"confort  du  Soldat 


THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"  5 

charm.  Until  the  war  came  she  was  far  too  absorbed 
in  the  delights  of  the  world — the  Paris  world,  which 
has  more  votaries  than  all  the  capitals  of  all  the  world 
— the  changing  fashions  and  her  social  popularity,  to 
have  heard  so  much  as  a  murmur  of  the  serious  tides 
of  her  nature.  Although  no  one  disputed  her  intelli- 
gence— a  social  asset  in  France,  odd  as  that  may  ap- 
pear to  Americans — she  was  generally  put  down  as  a 
mere  femme  du  monde,  self-indulgent,  pleasure-lov- 
ing, dependent — what  our  more  strident  feminists  call 
parasitic.  It  is  doubtful  if  she  belonged  to  charitable 
organizations,  although,  generous  by  nature,  it  is  safe 
to  say  that  she  gave  freely. 

In  that  terrible  September  week  of  1914  when  the 
Germans  were  driving  like  a  hurricane  on  Paris  and 
its  inhabitants  were  fleeing  in  droves  to  the  South, 
Madame  Balli's  husband  was  in  England;  her  sister- 
in-law,  an  infirmiere  major  (nurse  major)  of  the 
First  Division  of  the  Red  Cross,  had  been  ordered 
to  the  front  the  day  war  broke  out;  a  brother-in-law 
had  his  hands  full;  and  Madame  Balli  was  practically 
alone  in  Paris.  Terrified  of  the  struggling  hordes 
about  the  railway  stations  even  more  than  of  the  ad- 
vancing Germans,  deprived  of  her  motor  cars,  which 
had  been  commandeered  by  the  Government,  she  did 
not  know  which  way  to  turn  or  even  how  to  get  into 
communication  with  her  one  possible  protector. 

But  her  brother-in-law  suddenly  bethought  himself 
of  this  too  lovely  creature  who  would  be  exposed  to 
the  final  horrors  of  recrudescent  barbarism  if  the  Ger- 


6  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

mans  entered  Paris;  he  determined  to  put  public  de- 
mands aside  for  the  moment  and  take  her  to  Dinard, 
whence  she  could,  if  necessary,  cross  to  England. 

He  called  her  on  the  telephone  and  told  her  to  be 
ready  at  a  certain  hour  that  afternoon,  and  with  as 
little  luggage  as  possible,  as  they  must  travel  by  auto- 
mobile. "And  mark  you,"  he  added,  "no  dogs!" 
Madame  Balli  had  seven  little  Pekinese  to  which  she 
was  devoted  (her  only  child  was  at  school  in  Eng- 
land). She  protested  bitterly  at  leaving  her  pets  be- 
hind, but  her  brother  was  inexorable,  and  when  he 
called  for  her  it  was  with  the  understanding  that  all 
seven  were  yelping  in  the  rear,  at  the  mercy  of  the 
concierge. 

There  were  seven  passengers  in  the  automobile, 
however,  of  which  the  anxious  driver,  feeling  his  way 
through  the  crowded  streets  and  apprehensive  that 
his  car  might  be  impressed  at  any  moment,  had  not  a 
suspicion.  They  were  in  hat  boxes,  hastily  perforated 
portmanteaux,  up  the  coat  sleeves  of  Madame  Balli 
and  her  maid,  and  they  did  not  begin  to  yelp  until  so 
far  on  the  road  to  the  north  that  it  was  not  worth 
while  to  throw  them  out. 


in 

At  Dinard,  where  wounded  soldiers  were  brought 
in  on  every  train,  Madame  Balli  was  turned  over  to 
friends,  and  in  a  day  or  two,  being  bored  and  lonely, 
she  concluded  to  go  with  these  friends  to  the  hospitals 


THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"  7 

and  take  cigarettes  and  smiles  into  the  barren  wards. 
From  that  day  until  I  left  Paris  on  the  seventeenth 
of  August,  1916,  Madame  Balli  had  labored  unceas- 
ingly; she  is  known  to  the  Government  as  one  of  its 
most  valuable  and  resourceful  aids;  and  she  works 
until  two  in  the  morning,  during  the  quieter  hours, 
with  her  correspondence  and  books  (the  police  de- 
scend at  frequent  and  irregular  intervals  to  examine 
the  books  of  all  ceuvres,  and  one  mistake  means  being 
haled  to  court),  and  she  had  not  up  to  that  time  taken 
a  day's  rest.  I  have  seen  her  so  tired  she  could  hardly 
go  on,  and  she  said  once  quite  pathetically,  "I  am  not 
even  well-groomed  any  more."  I  frequently  straight- 
ened her  dress  in  the  back,  for  her  maids  work  almost 
as  hard  as  she  does.  When  her  husband  died,  a  year 
after  the  war  broke  out,  and  she  found  herself  no 
longer  a  rich  woman,  her  maids  offered  to  stay  with 
her  on  reduced  wages  and  work  for  her  ceuvres,  being 
so  deeply  attached  to  her  that  they  would  have  re- 
mained for  no  wages  at  all  if  she  had  really  been 
poor.  I  used  to  beg  her  to  go  to  Vichy  for  a  fort- 
night, but  she  would  not  hear  of  it.  Certain  things 
depended  upon  her  alone,  and  she  must  remain  at  her 
post  unless  she  broke  down  utterly.* 

One  of  her  friends  said  to  me :  "Helene  must  really 
be  a  tremendously  strong  woman.  Before  the  war  we 
all  thought  her  a  semi-invalid  who  pulled  herself  to- 
gether at  night  for  the  opera,  or  dinners,  or  balls. 

*She  is  still  hard  at  work,  June,  1917. 


8  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

But  we  didn't  know  her  then,  and  sometimes  we  feel 
as  if  we  knew  her  still  less  now." 

It  was  Madame  Balli  who  invented  the  "comfort 
package"  which  other  organizations  have  since  devel- 
oped into  the  "comfort  bag,"  and  founded  the  ceuvre 
known  as  "Reconfort  du  Soldat."  Her  committee 
consists  of  Mrs.  Frederick  H.  Allen  of  New  York, 
who  has  a  home  in  Paris  and  is  identified  with  many 
war  charities;  Mrs.  Edward  Tuck,  who  has  lived  in 
and  given  munificently  to  France  for  thirty  years; 
Madame  Paul  Dupuy,  who  was  Helen  Brown  of  New 
York  and  has  her  own  ceuvre  for  supplying  war- 
surgeons  with  rubber,  oil-cloth,  invalid  chairs,  etc. ; 
the  Marquise  de  Noialles,  President  of  a  large  ceuvre 
somewhat  similar  to  Madame  Dupuy's;  the  Comtesse 
de  Fels,  Madame  Brun,  and  Mr.  Holman-Black,  an 
American  who  has  lived  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in 
France.  Mrs.  Willard  sends  her  supplies  from  New 
York  by  every  steamer. 

Madame  Balli  also  has  a  long  list  of  contributors 
to  this  and  her  other  ceuvres,  who  sometimes  pay  their 
promised  dues  and  sometimes  do  not,  so  that  she  is 
obliged  to  call  on  her  committee  (who  have  a  hundred 
other  demands)  or  pay  the  deficit  out  of  her  own 
pocket.  A  certain  number  of  American  contributors 
send  her  things  regularly  through  Mrs.  Allen  or  Mrs. 
Willard,  and  occasionally  some  generous  outsider 
gives  her  a  donation.  I  was  told  that  the  Greek  Col- 
ony in  Paris  had  been  most  generous ;  and  while  I  was 
there  she  published  in  one  of  the  newspapers  an  appeal 


THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"  9 

for  a  hundred  pillows  for  a  hospital  in  which  she  was 
interested,  and  received  in  the  course  of  the  next  three 
days  over  four  hundred. 


IV 

I  went  with  her  one  day  to  one  of  the  eclope  sta- 
tions and  to  the  Depot  des  Isoles,  outside  of  Paris,  to 
help  her  distribute  comfort  packages — which,  by  the 
way,  covered  the  top  of  the  automobile  and  were  piled 
so  high  inside  that  we  disposed  ourselves  with  some 
difficulty.  These  packages,  all  neatly  tied,  and  of 
varying  sizes,  were  in  the  nature  of  surprise  bags  of 
an  extremely  practical  order.  Tobacco,  pipes,  cigar- 
ettes, chocolate,  toothbrushes,  soap,  pocket-knives, 
combs,  safety-pins,  handkerchiefs,  needles-and-thread, 
buttons,  pocket  mirrors,  post-cards,  pencils,  are  a  few 
of  the  articles  I  recall.  The  members  of  the  Com- 
mittee meet  at  her  house  twice  a  week  to  do  up  the 
bundles,  and  her  servants,  also,  do  a  great  deal  of  the 
practical  work. 

It  was  a  long  drive  through  Paris  and  to  the  depots 
beyond.  A  year  before  we  should  have  been  held  up 
at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  every  few  yards,  but  in 
1916  we  rolled  on  unhindered.  Paris  is  no  longer  in 
the  War  Zone,  although  as  we  passed  the  fortifications 
we  saw  men  standing  beside  the  upward  pointing 
guns,  and  I  was  told  that  this  vigilance  does  not  relax 
day  or  night. 

Later,  I  shall  have  much  to  say  about  the  eclopes, 


10  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

but  it  is  enough  to  explain  here  that  "eclope,"  in  the 
new  adaptation  of  the  word,  stands  for  a  man  who  is 
not  wounded,  or  ill  enough  for  a  military  hospital,  but 
for  whom  a  brief  rest  in  comfortable  quarters  is  im- 
perative. The  stations  provided  for  them,  principally 
through  the  instrumentality  of  another  remarkable 
Frenchwoman,  Mile.  Javal,  now  number  about  one 
hundred  and  thirty,  and  are  either  behind  the  lines  or 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris  or  other  large  cities. 
The  one  we  visited,  Le  Bourget,  is  among  the  largest 
and  most  important,  and  the  Commandant,  M.  de 
L'Horme,  is  as  interested  as  a  father  in  his  children. 
The  yard  when  we  arrived  was  full  of  soldiers,  some 
about  to  march  out  and  entrain  for  the  front,  others 
still  loafing,  and  M.  de  L'Horme  seemed  to  know  each 
by  name. 

The  comfort  packages  are  always  given  to  the  men 
returning  to  their  regiments  on  that  particular  day. 
They  are  piled  high  on  a  long  table  at  one  side  of  the 
barrack  yard,  and  behind  it  on  the  day  of  my  visit 
stood  Madame  Balli,  Mrs.  Allen,  Mr.  Holman-Black 
and  myself,  and  we  handed  out  packages  with  a 
"Bonne  chance"  as  the  men  filed  by.  Some  were  sul- 
len and  unresponsive,  but  many  more  looked  as 
pleased  as  children  and  no  doubt  were  as  excited  over 
their  "grabs,"  which  they  were  not  to  open  until  in 
the  train.  They  would  face  death  on  the  morrow, 
but  for  the  moment  at  least  they  were  personal  and 
titillated. 

Close  by  was  a  small  munition  factory,  and  a  large 


THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"  11 

loft  had  been  turned  into  a  rest-room  for  such  of  the 
eclopes  as  it  was  thought  advisable  to  put  to  bed  for 
a  few  days  under  medical  supervision.  To  each  of 
these  we  gave  several  of  the  black  cigarettes  dear  to 
the  tobacco-proof  heart  of  the  Frenchman,  a  piece  of 
soap,  three  picture  post-cards,  and  chocolate.  I  think 
they  were  as  glad  of  the  visits  as  of  the  presents,  for 
most  of  them  were  too  far  from  home  to  receive  any 
personal  attention  from  family  or  friends.  The  beds 
looked  comfortable  and  all  the  windows  were  open. 

From  there  we  went  to  the  Depot  des  Isoles,  an 
immense  enclosure  where  men  from  shattered  regi- 
ments are  sent  for  a  day  or  two  until  they  can  be 
returned  to  the  front  to  fill  gaps  in  other  regiments. 
Nowhere,  not  even  in  the  War  Zone,  did  war  show  to 
me  a  grimmer  face  than  here.  As  these  men  are  in 
good  health  and  tarry  barely  forty-eight  hours,  little 
is  done  for  their  comfort.  Soldiers  in  good  condition 
are  not  encouraged  to  expect  comforts  in  war  time, 
and  no  doubt  the  discipline  is  good  for  them — al- 
though, heaven  knows,  the  French  as  a  race  know 
little  about  comfort  at  any  time. 

There  were  cots  in  some  of  the  barracks,  but  there 
were  also  large  spaces  covered  with  straw,  and  here 
men  had  flung  themselves  down  as  they  entered,  with- 
out unstrapping  the  heavy  loads  they  carried  on  their 
backs.  They  were  sleeping  soundly.  Every  bed  was 
occupied  by  a  sprawling  figure  in  his  stained,  faded, 
muddy  uniform.  I  saw  one  superb  and  turbaned  Al- 
gerian sitting  upright  in  an  attitude  of  extreme  dig- 


12  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

/ 

nity,  and  as  oblivious  to  war  and  angels  of  mercy  as 
a  dead  man  in  the  trenches. 

Two  English  girls,  the  Miss  Gracies,  had  opened  a 
cantine  at  this  depot.  Women  have  these  cantines  in 
all  the  eclope  and  isole  stations  where  permission  of  the 
War  Office  can  be  obtained,  and  not  only  give  freely 
of  hot  coffee  and  cocoa,  bread,  cakes  and  lemonade,  to 
those  weary  men  as  they  come  in,  but  also  have  made 
their  little  sheds  look  gaily  hospitable  with  flags  and 
pictures.  The  Miss  Gracies  had  even  induced  some 
one  to  build  an  open  air  theater  in  the  great  barrack 
yard  where  the  men  could  amuse  themselves  and  one 
another  if  they  felt  inclined.  A  more  practical  gift 
by  Mrs.  Allen  was  a  bath  house  in  which  were  six 
showers  and  soap  and  towels. 

It  was  a  dirty  yard  we  stood  in  this  time,  handing 
out  gifts,  and  when  I  saw  Mrs.  Allen  buying  a  whole 
wheelbarrow-load  of  golden-looking  doughnuts, 
brought  by  a  woman  of  the  village  close  by,  I  won- 
dered with  some  apprehension  if  she  were  meaning  to 
reward  us  for  our  excessive  virtue.  But  they  were 
an  impromptu  treat  for  the  soldiers  standing  in  the 
yard — some  already  lined  up  to  march — and  the  way 
they  disappeared  down  those  brown  throats  made  me 
feel  blasee  and  over-civilized. 

I  did  not  hand  out  during  this  little  fete,  my  place 
being  taken  by  Mrs.  Thayer  of  Boston,  so  I  was  better 
able  to  appreciate  the  picture.  All  the  women  were 
pretty,  and  I  wondered  if  Madame  Balli  had  chosen 
them  as  much  for  their  esthetic  appeal  to  the  exacting 


THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"          13 

French  mind  as  for  their  willingness  to  help.  It  was 
a  strange  sight,  that  line  of  charming  women  with 
kind  bright  eyes,  and,  although  simply  dressed, 
stamped  with  the  world  they  moved  in,  while  standing 
and  lying  about  were  the  tired  and  dirty  poilus — even 
those  that  stood  were  slouching  as  if  resting  their  backs 
while  they  could — with  their  uniforms  of  horizon  blue 
faded  to  an  ugly  gray,  streaked  and  patched.  They 
had  not  seen  a  decent  woman  for  months,  possibly 
not  a  woman  at  all,  and  it  was  no  wonder  they  fol- 
lowed every  movement  of  these  smiling  benefactresses 
with  wondering,  adoring,  or  cynical  eyes. 

But,  I  repeat,  to  me  it  was  an  ill-favored  scene,  and 
the  fact  that  it  was  a  warm  and  peaceful  day,  with  a 
radiant  blue  sky  above,  merely  added  to  the  irony. 
Although  later  I  visited  the  War  Zone  three  times  and 
saw  towns  crowded  with  soldiers  off  duty,  or  as  empty 
as  old  gray  shells,  nothing  induced  in  me  the  same 
vicious  stab  of  hatred  for  war  as  this  scene.  There 
is  only  one  thing  more  abominable  than  war  and  that 
is  the  pacificist  doctrine  of  non-resistance  when  duty 
and  honor  call.  Every  country,  no  doubt,  has  its 
putrescent  spots  caused  by  premature  senility,  but  no 
country  so  far  has  shown  itself  as  wholly  crumbling 
in  an  age  where  the  world  is  still  young. 


A  few  days  later  I  went  with  Madame  Balli  and 
Mr.  Holman-Black  to  the  military  hospital,  Chaptal, 


14  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

devoted  to  the  men  whose  faces  had  been  mutilated. 
The  first  room  was  an  immense  apartment  with  an 
open  space  beyond  the  beds  filled  to-day  with  men 
who  crowded  about  Madame  Balli,  as  much  to  get 
that  personal  word  and  smile  from  her,  which  the 
French  soldier  so  pathetically  places  above  all  gifts, 
as  to  have  the  first  choice  of  a  pipe  or  knife. 

After  I  had  distributed  the  usual  little  presents  of 
cigarettes,  chocolate,  soap,  and  post-cards  among  the 
few  still  in  bed,  I  sat  on  the  outside  of  Madame  Balli's 
mob  and  talked  to  one  of  the  infirmieres.  She  was  a 
Frenchwoman  married  to  an  Irishman  who  was  serv- 
ing in  the  British  navy,  and  her  sons  were  in  the 
trenches.  She  made  a  remark  to  me  that  I  was  des- 
tined to  hear  very  often : 

"Oh,  yes,  we  work  hard,  and  we  are  only  too  glad 
to  do  what  we  can  for  France;  but,  my  God!  what 
would  become  of  us  if  we  remained  idle  and  let  our 
minds  dwell  upon  our  men  at  the  Front?  We  should 
go  mad.  As  it  is,  we  are  so  tired  at  night  that  we 
sleep,  and  the  moment  we  awaken  we  are  on  duty 
again.  I  can  assure  you  the  harder  we  have  to  work 
the  more  grateful  we  are." 

She  looked  very  young  and  pretty  in  her  infirmiere 
uniform  of  white  linen  with  a  veil  of  the  same  stiff 
material  and  the  red  cross  on  her  breast,  and  it  was 
odd  to  hear  that  sons  of  hers  were  in  the  trenches. 

After  that  nearly  all  the  men  in  the  different  wards 
we  visited  were  in  bed,  and  each  room  was  worse  than 
the  last,  until  it  was  almost  a  relief  to  come  to  the  one 


THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"  15 

where  the  men  had  just  been  operated  on  and  were  so 
bandaged  that  any  features  they  may  have  had  left 
were  indistinguishable. 

For  the  uncovered  faces  were  horrible.  I  was  ill 
all  night,  not  only  from  the  memory  of  the  sickening 
sights  with  which  I  had  remained  several  hours  in  a 
certain  intimacy — for  I  went  to  assist  Madame  Balli 
and  took  the  little  gifts  to  every  bedside — but  from 
rage  against  the  devilish  powers  that  unloosed  this 
horror  upon  the  world.  One  of  the  grim  ironies  of 
this  war  is  that  the  Hohenzollerns  and  the  junkers  are 
so  constituted  mentally  that  they  never  will  be  haunted 
with  awful  visions  like  those  that  visited  the  more 
plastic  conscience  of  Charles  IX  after  St.  Bartholo- 
mew ;  but  at  least  it  will  be  some  compensation  to  pic- 
ture them  rending  the  air  with  lamentations  over  their 
own  downfall  and  hurling  curses  at  their  childish  folly. 

It  is  the  bursting  of  shrapnel  that  causes  the  face 
mutilations,  and  although  the  first  room  we  visited  at 
Chaptal  was  a  witness  to  the  marvelous  restorative 
work  the  surgeons  are  able  to  accomplish — sometimes 
— many  weeks  and  even  months  must  elapse  while  the 
face  is  not  only  red  and  swollen,  but  twisted,  the 
mouth  almost  parallel  with  the  nose — and  often  there 
is  no  nose — a  whole  cheek  missing,  an  eye  gone,  or 
both ;  sometimes  the  whole  mouth  and  chin  have  been 
blown  away;  and  I  saw  one  face  that  had  nothing  on 
its  flat  surface  but  a  pipe  inserted  where  the  nose  had 
been.  Another  was  so  terrible  that  I  did  not  dare  to 
take  a  second  look,  and  I  have  only  a  vague  and 


16  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

mercifully  fading  impression  of  a  hideousness  never 
before  seen  in  this  world. 

On  the  other  hand  I  saw  a  man  propped  up  in  bed, 
with  one  entire  side  of  his  face  bandaged,  his  mouth 
twisted  almost  into  his  right  ear,  and  a  mere  remnant 
of  nose,  reading  a  newspaper  with  his  remaining  eye 
and  apparently  quite  happy. 

The  infirmiere  told  me  that  sometimes  the  poor  fel- 
lows would  cry — they  are  almost  all  very  young — and 
lament  that  no  girl  would  have  them  now;  but  she 
always  consoled  them  by  the  assurance  that  men  would 
be  so  scarce  after  the  war  that  girls  would  take  any- 
thing they  could  get. 

In  one  of  the  wards  a  young  soldier  was  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  his  cot,  receiving  his  family,  two  wom- 
en of  middle  age  and  a  girl  of  about  seventeen.  His 
face  was  bandaged  down  to  the  bridge  of  his  nose, 
but  the  lower  part  was  uninjured.  He  may  or  may 
not  have  been  permanently  blind.  The  two  older 
women — his  mother  and  aunt,  no  doubt — looked 
stolid,  as  women  of  that  class  always  do,  but  the  girl 
sat  staring  straight  before  her  with  an  expression  of 
bitter  resentment  I  shall  never  forget.  She  looked  as 
if  she  were  giving  up  every  youthful  illusion,  and 
realized  that  Life  is  the  enemy  of  man,  and  more  par- 
ticularly of  woman.  Possibly  her  own  lover  was  in 
the  trenches.  Or  perhaps  this  mutilated  boy  beside  her 
was  the  first  lover  of  her  youth.  One  feels  far  too  im- 
personal for  curiosity  in  these  hospitals  and  it  did  not 
occur  to  me  to  ask. 


THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"          17 

Madame  Balli  had  also  brought  several  boxes  of 
delicacies  for  the  private  kitchen  of  the  infirmieres, 
where  fine  dishes  may  be  concocted  for  appetites  still 
too  weak  to  be  tempted  by  ordinary  hospital  fare: 
soup  extract,  jellies,  compotes,  cocoa,  preserves,  etc. 
Mr.  Holman-Black  came  staggering  after  us  with  one 
of  these  boxes,  I  remember,  down  the  long  corridor 
that  led  to  the  private  quarters  of  the  nurses.  One 
walks  miles  in  these  hospitals. 

A  number  of  American  men  in  Paris  are  working 
untiringly  for  Paris,  notably  those  in  our  War  Relief 
Clearing  House — H.  O.  Beatty,  Randolph  Mordecai, 
James  R.  Barbour,  M.  P.  Peixotto,  Ralph  Preston, 
Whitney  Warren,  Hugh  R.  Griffen,  James  Hazen 
Hyde,  Walter  Abbott,  Charles  R.  Scott,  J.  J.  Hoff, 
Rev.  Dr.  S.  N.  Watson,  George  Munroe,  Charles  Car- 
roll, J.  Ridgeley  Carter,  H.  Herman  Harges — but  I 
never  received  from  any  the  same  sense  of  consecra- 
tion, of  absolute  selflessness  as  I  did  from  Mr.  Hol- 
man-Black. He  and  his  brother  have  a  beautiful  little 
hotel,  and  for  many  years  before  the  war  were  among 
the  most  brilliant  contributors  to  the  musical  life  of 
the  great  capital ;  but  there  has  been  no  entertaining  in 
those  charming  rooms  since  August,  1914.  Mr.  Hol- 
man-Black is  parrain  (godfather)  to  three  hundred 
and  twenty  soldiers  at  the  Front,  not  only  providing 
them  with  winter  and  summer  underclothing,  bedding, 
sleeping-suits,  socks,  and  all  the  lighter  articles  they 
have  the  privilege  of  asking  for,  but  also  writing  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  letters  to  his  filleuls  daily.  He,  too, 


i8  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

has  not  taken  a  day's  vacation  since  the  outbreak  of 
the  war,  nor  read  a  book.  He  wears  the  uniform  of 
a  Red  Cross  officer,  and  is  associated  with  several  of 
Madame  Balli's  ceuvres. 


VI 

A  few  days  later  Madame  Balli  took  me  to  another 
hospital — Hopital  Militaire  Villemin — where  she  gives 
a  concert  once  a  week.  Practically  all  the  men  that 
gathered  in  the  large  room  to  hear  the  music,  or 
crowded  before  the  windows,  were  well  and  would 
leave  shortly  for  the  front,  but  a  few  were  brought  in 
on  stretchers  and  lay  just, below  the  platform.  This 
hospital  seemed  less  dreary  to  me  than  most  of  those 
I  had  visited,  and  the  yard  was  full  of  fine  trees.  It 
was  also  an  extremely  cheerful  afternoon,  for  not 
only  was  the  sun  shining,  but  the  four  artists  Madame 
Balli  had  brought  gave  of  their  best  and  their  efforts 
to  amuse  were  greeted  with  shouts  of  laughter. 

Lyse  Berty — the  most  distinguished  vaudeville  ar- 
tist in  France  and  who  is  certainly  funnier  than  any 
woman  on  earth — had  got  herself  up  in  horizon  blue, 
and  was  the  hit  of  the  afternoon.  The  men  forgot 
war  and  the  horrors  of  war  and  surrendered  to  her 
art  and  her  selections  with  an  abandon  which  betrayed 
their  superior  intelligence,  for  she  is  a  very  plain 
woman.  Miss  O'Brien,  an  Irish  girl  who  has  spent 
her  life  in  Paris  and  looks  like  the  pictures  in  some 
old  Book  of  Beauty — immense  blue  eyes,  tiny  regular 


THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"          19 

features,  small  oval  face,  chestnut  hair,  pink-and- 
white  skin,  and  a  tall  "willowy"  figure — was  second 
in  their  critical  esteem,  because  she  did  not  relieve 
their  monotonous  life  with  fun,  but  sang,  instead, 
sweet  or  stirring  songs  in  a  really  beautiful  voice. 
The  other  two,  young  entertainers  of  the  vaudeville 
stage,  were  not  so  accomplished  but  were  applauded 
politely,  and  as  they  possessed  a  liberal  share  of  the 
grace  and  charm  of  the  Frenchwoman  and  were  ex- 
quisitely dressed,  no  doubt  men  still  recall  them  on 
dreary  nights  in  trenches. 

I  sat  on  the  platform  and  watched  at  close  range 
the  faces  of  these  soldiers  of  France.  They  were  all 
from  the  people,  of  course,  but  there  was  not  a  face 
that  was  not  alive  with  quick  intelligence,  and  it  struck 
me  anew — as  it  always  did  when  I  had  an  oppor- 
tunity to  see  a  large  number  of  Frenchmen  together 
at  close  range — how  little  one  face  resembled  the 
other.  The  French  are  a  race  of  individuals.  There 
is  no  type.  It  occurred  to  me  that  if  during  my  life- 
time the  reins  of  all  the  Governments,  my  own  in- 
cluded, were  seized  by  the  people,  I  should  move  over 
and  trust  my  destinies  to  the  proletariat  of  France. 
Their  lively  minds  and  quick  sympathies  would  make 
their  rule  tolerable  at  least.  As  I  have  said  before,  the 
race  has  genius. 

After  we  had  distributed  the  usual  gifts,  I  con- 
cluded to  drive  home  in  the  car  of  the  youngest  of  the 
vaudeville  artists,  as  taxis  in  that  region  were  non- 
existent, and  Madame  Balli  and  Mr.  Holman-Black 


20  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

would  be  detained  for  another  hour.  Mademoiselle 
Berty  was  with  us,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  rapid  con- 
versation— which  never  slackened! — she  made  some 
allusion  to  the  son  of  this  little  artist,  and  I  exclaimed 
involuntarily : 

"You  married?    I  never  should  have  imagined  it." 

Why  on  earth  I  ever  made  such  a  banal  remark  to  a 
French  vaudevilliste,  whose  clothes,  jewels,  and  auto- 
mobile represented  an  income  as  incompatible  with 
fixed  salaries  as  with  war  time,  I  cannot  imagine. 
Automatic  Americanism,  no  doubt. 

Mile.  Berty  lost  no  time  correcting  me.  "Oh,  Hor- 
tense  is  not  married,"  she  merely  remarked.  "But 
she  has  a  splendid  son — twelve  years  old." 

Being  the  only  embarrassed  member  of  the  party,  I 
hastened  to  assure  the  girl  that  I  had  thought  she  was 
about  eighteen  and  was  astonished  to  hear  that  she 
had  a  child  of  any  age.  But  twelve!  She  turned  to 
me  with  a  gentle  and  deprecatory  smile. 

"I  loved  very  young,"  she  explained. 


VII 


Chaptal  and  Villemin  are  only  two  of  Madame 
Balli's  hospitals.  I  believe  she  visits  others,  carrying 
gifts  to  both  the  men  and  the  kitchens,  but  the  only 
other  of  her  works  that  I  came  into  personal  contact 
with  was  an  oeuvre  she  had  organized  to  teach  con- 
valescent soldiers,  mutilated  or  otherwise,  how  to 


THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"          21 

make  bead  necklaces.  These  are  really  beautiful  and 
are  another  of  her  own  inventions. 

Up  in  the  front  bedroom  of  her  charming  home  in 
the  Avenue  Henri  Martin  is  a  table  covered  with 
boxes  filled  with  glass  beads  of  every  color.  Here 
Madame  Balli,  with  a  group  of  friends,  sits  during  all 
her  spare  hours  and  begins  the  necklaces  which  the 
soldiers  come  for  and  take  back  to  the  hospital  to 
finish.  I  sat  in  the  background  and  watched  the  men 
come  in — many  of  them  with  the  Croix  de  Guerre, 
the  Croix  de  la  Legion  d'Honneur,  or  the  Medaille 
Militaire  pinned  on  their  faded  jackets.  I  listened  to 
brief  definite  instructions  of  Madame  Balli,  who  may 
have  the  sweetest  smile  in  the  world,  but  who  knows 
what  she  wants  people  to  do  and  invariably  makes 
them  do  it.  I  saw  no  evidence  of  stupidity  or  slack- 
ness in  these  young  soldiers;  they  might  have  been 
doing  bead-work  all  their  lives,  they  combined  the 
different  colors  and  sizes  so  deftly  and  with  such  true 
artistic  feeling. 

Madame  Balli  has  sold  hundreds  of  these  neck- 
laces. She  has  a  case  at  the  Ritz  Hotel,  and  she  has 
constant  orders  from  friends  and  their  friends,  and 
even  from  dressmakers;  for  these  trinkets  are  as 
nearly  works  of  art  as  anything  so  light  may  be.  The 
men  receive  a  certain  percentage  of  the  profits  and 
will  have  an  ample  purse  when  they  leave  the  hospital. 
Another  portion  goes  to  buy  delicacies  for  their  less 
fortunate  comrades — and  this  idea  appeals  to  them 
immensely — the  rest  goes  to  buy  more  beads  at  the 


22  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

glittering  shops  on  the  Rue  du  Rivoli.  The  necklaces 
bring  from  five  to  eight  or  ten  dollars.  The  soldiers 
in  many  of  the  hospitals  are  doing  flat  bead  work, 
which  is  ingenious  and  pretty;  but  nothing  compares 
with  these  necklaces  of  Madame  Balli,  and  some  of 
the  best  dressed  American  women  in  Paris  are  wear- 
ing them. 

VIII 

On  the  twentieth  of  July  (1916)  Le  Figaro  devoted 
an  article  to  Madame  Balli's  Reconfort  du  Soldat,  and 
stated  that  it  was  distributing  about  six  hundred  pack- 
ages a  week  to  soldiers  in  hospitals  and  eclope  depots, 
and  that  during  the  month  of  January  alone  nine  thou- 
sand six  hundred  packages  were  distributed  both  be- 
hind the  lines  and  among  the  soldiers  at  the  Front. 
This  may  go  on  for  years  or  it  may  come  to  an  abrupt 
end ;  but,  like  all  the  Frenchwomen  to  whom  I  talked, 
and  who  when  they  plunged  into  work  expected  a 
short  war,  she  is  determined  to  do  her  part  as  long  as 
the  soldiers  do  theirs,  even  if  the  war  marches  with 
the  term  of  her  natural  life.  She  not  only  has  given 
a  great  amount  of  practical  help,  but  has  done  her 
share  in  keeping  up  the  morale  of  the  men,  who,  buoy- 
ant by  nature  as  they  are,  and  passionately  devoted  to 
their  country,  must  have  many  discouraged  moments 
in  their  hospitals  and  depots. 

Once  or  twice  when  swamped  with  work — she  is 
also  a  marraine  (godmother)  and  writes  regularly  to 
her  filleuls — Madame  Balli  has  sent  the  weekly  gifts 


THE  "COMFORT  PACKAGE"          23 

by  friends;  but  the  protest  was  so  decided,  the  men 
declaring  that  her  personal  sympathy  meant  more  to 
them  than  cigarettes  and  soap,  that  she  was  forced  to 
adjust  her  affairs  in  such  a  manner  that  no  visit  to  a 
hospital  at  least  should  be  missed. 

It  is  doubtful  if  any  of  these  men  who  survive  and 
live  to  tell  tales  of  the  Great  War  in  their  old  age  will 
ever  omit  to  recall  the  gracious  presence  and  lovely 
face  of  Madame  Balli,  who  came  so  often  to  make 
them  forget  the  sad  monotony  of  their  lives,  even  the 
pain  in  their  mutilated  limbs,  the  agony  behind  their 
disfigured  faces,  during  those  long  months  they  spent 
in  the  hospitals  of  Paris.  And  although  her  beauty 
has  always  been  a  pleasure  to  the  eye,  perhaps  it  is 
now  for  the  first  time  paying  its  great  debt  to  Nature. 


II 

THE  SILENT  ARMY 


MADAME  PAQUIN,  the  famous  French  dress- 
maker, told  me  casually  an  incident  that 
epitomizes  the  mental  inheritance  of  the  women  of  a 
military  nation  once  more  plunged  abruptly  into  war. 

Her  home  is  in  Neuilly,  one  of  the  beautiful  suburbs 
of  Paris,  and  for  years  when  awake  early  in  the 
morning  it  had  been  her  habit  to  listen  for  the  heavy 
creaking  of  the  great  wagons  that  passed  her  house 
on  their  way  from  the  gardens  and  orchards  of  the 
open  country  to  the  markets  of  Paris.  Sometimes  she 
would  arise  and  look  at  them,  those  immense  heavy 
trucks  loaded  high  above  their  walls  with  the  luscious 
produce  of  the  fertile  soil  of  France.  On  the  seats 
were  always  three  or  four  sturdy  men:  the  farmer, 
and  the  sons  who  would  help  him  unload  at  the 
"Halles." 

All  these  men,  of  course,  were  reservists.  Mobiliza- 
tion took  place  on  Sunday.  On  Monday  morning 
Madame  Paquin,  like  many  others  in  that  anxious 
city,  was  tossing  restlessly  on  her  bed  when  she  heard 
the  familiar  creaking  of  the  market  wagons  which 

24 


THE  SILENT  ARMY  25 

for  so  many  years  had  done  their  share  in  feeding 
the  hungry  and  fastidious  people  of  Paris.  Know- 
ing that  every  able-bodied  man  had  disappeared  from 
his  usual  haunts  within  a  few  hours  after  the  Mobiliza- 
tion Order  was  posted,  she  sprang  out  of  bed  and 
looked  through  her  blinds. 

There  in  the  dull  gray  mist  of  the  early  morning 
she  saw  the  familiar  procession.  There  were  the  big 
trucks  drawn  by  the  heavily  built  cart  horses  and 
piled  high  with  the  abundant  but  precisely  picked  and 
packed  produce  of  the  market  gardens.  Paris  was  to 
be  fed  as  usual.  People  must  eat,  war  or  no  war.  In 
spite  of  the  summons  which  had  excited  the 
brains  and  depressed  the  hearts  of  a  continent  those 
trucks  were  playing  their  part  in  human  destiny,  not 
even  claiming  the  right  to  be  five  minutes  late.  The 
only  difference  was  that  the  seats  on  this  gloomy 
August  morning  of  1914  were  occupied  by  large  stolid 
peasant  women,  the  wives  and  sisters  and  sweethearts 
of  the  men  called  to  the  colors.  They  had  mobilized 
themselves  as  automatically  as  the  Government  had 
ordered  out  its  army  when  the  German  war  god  de- 
flowered our  lady  of  peace. 

These  women  may  have  carried  heavy  hearts  under 
their  bright  coifs  and  cotton  blouses,  but  their  weather- 
beaten  faces  betrayed  nothing  but  the  stoical  deter- 
mination to  get  their  supplies  to  the  Halles  at  the 
usual  hour.  And  they  have  gone  by  every  morning 
since.  Coifs  and  blouses  have  turned  black,  but  the 


26  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

hard  brown  faces  betray  nothing,  and  they  are  never 
late. 

II 

Up  in  the  Champagne  district,  although  many 
of  the  vineyards  were  in  valleys  between  the  two  con- 
tending armies,  the  women  undertook  to  care  for  the 
vines  when  the  time  came,  risking  their  lives  rather 
than  sacrifice  the  next  year's  vintage.  Captain  Sweeney 
of  the  Foreign  Legion  told  me  that  when  the  French 
soldiers  were  not  firing  they  amused  themselves  watch- 
ing these  women  pruning  and  trimming  as  fatalistically 
as  if  guns  were  not  thundering  east  and  west  of  them, 
shells  singing  overhead.  For  the  most  part  they  were 
safe  enough,  and  nerves  had  apparently  been  left  out 
of  them ;  but  once  in  a  while  the  Germans  would  amuse 
themselves  raking  the  valley  with  the  guns.  Then  the 
women  would  simply  throw  themselves  flat  and  remain 
motionless — sometimes  for  hours — until  "Les  Boches" 
concluded  to  waste  no  more  ammunition. 

In  Rheims  the  women  have  never  closed  their  shops. 
They  have  covered  their  windows  with  sandbags,  and 
by  the  light  of  lamp  or  candle  do  a  thriving  business 
while  the  big  guns  thunder.  The  soldiers,  both  British 
and  French,  like  their  trinkets  and  post-cards,  to  say 
nothing  of  more  practical  objects,  and,  admiring  their 
inveterate  pluck,  not  only  patronize  them  liberally  but 
sit  in  their  coverts  and  gossip  or  flirt  with  the  pretty 
girls  for  whom  shells  bursting  in  the  street  are  too 
old  a  story  for  terror. 


THE  SILENT  ARMY  27 

in 

Many  of  the  women  of  the  industrial  classes  who 
have  been  accustomed  all  their  hard  dry  lives  to  live 
on  the  daily  wage  of  father  or  husband  have  refused 
to  work  since  the  war  began,  preferring  to  scrape 
along  on  the  Government  allocation  (allowance)  of 
one-franc-twenty-five  a  day  for  the  wives  of  soldiers, 
plus  fifty  centimes  for  each  child  (seventy-five  in 
Paris).  These  notable  exceptions  will  be  dealt  with 
later.  France,  like  all  nations,  contains  every  variety 
of  human  nature,  and,  with  its  absence  of  illusions 
and  its  habit  of  looking  facts  almost  cynically  in  the 
face,  would  be  the  last  to  claim  perfection  or  even 
to  conceal  its  infirmities.  But  the  right  side  of  its 
shield  is  very  bright  indeed,  and  the  hands  of  many 
millions  of  women,  delicate  and  toil-hardened,  have 
labored  to  make  it  shine  once  more  in  history. 

The  Mayoress  of  a  small  town  near  Paris  told  me 
of  three  instances  that  came  within  her  personal  ob- 
servation, and  expressed  no  surprise  at  one  or  the 
other.  She  probably  would  not  have  thought  them 
worth  mentioning  if  she  had  not  been  asked  expressly 
to  meet  me  and  give  me  certain  information.  One 
was  of  a  woman  whose  husband  had  been  a  wage- 
earner,  and,  with  six  or  eight  children,  had  been  able 
to  save  nothing.  The  allocation  was  not  declared  at 
once  and  this  woman  lost  no  time  bewailing  her  fate 
or  looking  about  for  charitable  groups  of  ladies  to  feed 
her  with  soup.  She  simply  continued  to  run  her  hus- 


28  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

band's  estaminet  (wine-shop),  and,  as  the  patronage 
was  necessarily  diminished,  was  one  of  the  first  to 
apply  when  munition  factories  invited  women  to  fill 
the  vacant  places  of  men.  She  chose  to  work  at  night 
that  she  might  keep  the  estaminet  open  by  day  for  the 
men  too  old  to  fight  and  for  the  rapidly  increasing 
number  of  "reformes" :  those  who  had  lost  a  leg  or 
arm  or  were  otherwise  incapacited  for  service. 

A  sister,  who  lived  in  Paris,  immediately  applied 
for  one  of  the  thousand  vacant  posts  in  bakeries,  cut 
bread  and  buttered  it  and  made  toast  for  a  tea-room 
in  the  afternoon,  and  found  another  job  to  sweep 
out  stores.  This  woman  had  a  son  still  under  age  but 
in  training  at  the  Front.  He  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  paying  her  periodical  visits,  until  this  woman,  al- 
ready toiling  beyond  her  strength  to  support  her  other 
children,  sat  down  one  day  and  wrote  to  the  boy's 
commanding  officer  asking  him  to  permit  no  more 
leaves  of  absence,  as  the  ordeal  was  too  much  for  both 
of  them. 

The  third  story  was  of  a  woman  whom  the  Mayoress 
had  often  entertained  in  her  homes,  both  official  and 
private.  When  this  woman,  who  had  lived  a  life  of 
such  ease  as  the  mother  of  eleven  children  may,  was 
forced  to  take  over  the  conduct  of  her  husband's  busi- 
ness (he  was  killed  immediately)  she  discovered  that 
he  had  been  living  on  his  capital,  and  when  his  estate 
was  settled  her  only  inheritance  was  a  small  wine-shop 
in  Paris.  She  packed  her  trunks,  spent  what  little 
money  she  had  left  on  twelve  railway  tickets  for  the 


THE  SILENT  ARMY  29 

capital,  and  settled  her  brood  in  the  small  quarters  be- 
hind the  estaminet — fortunately  the  lessee,  who  was 
unmarried,  had  also  been  swept  off  to  the  Front. 

The  next  morning  she  reopened  the  doors  and  stood 
smiling  behind  the  counter.  The  place  was  well 
stocked.  It  was  a  long  while  before  she  was  obliged 
to  spend  any  of  her  intake  on  aught  but  food  and 
lights.  So  charming  a  hostess  did  she  prove  that  her 
little  shop  was  never  empty  and  quickly  became 
famous.  She  had  been  assured  of  a  decent  living  long 
since, 

IV 

When  I  arrived  in  Paris  in  May  (1916)  a  little 
girl  had  just  been  decorated  by  the  President  of  the 
Republic.  Her  father,  the  village  baker,  had  made 
one  of  those  lightning  changes  from  citizen  to  soldier 
and  her  mother  had  died  a  few  weeks  before.  She 
was  an  only  child.  The  bakery  had  supplied  not  only 
the  village  but  the  neighboring  inn,  which  had  been  a 
favorite  lunching  place  for  automobilists.  Traveling 
for  pleasure  stopped  abruptly,  but  as  the  road  that 
passed  the  inn  was  one  of  the  direct  routes  to  the 
Front,  it  still  had  many  hasty  calls  upon  its  hospi- 
tality. 

Now,  bread-making  in  France  is  a  science,  the  work 
of  the  expert,  not  of  the  casual  housewife.  The  ac- 
complished cook  of  the  inn  knew  no  more  about  mix- 
ing and  baking  bread  than  he  did  of  washing  clothes ; 
and  there  was  but  this  one  bakery,  hitherto  sufficient, 


30  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

for  the  baker  and  his  wife  had  been  strong  and  in- 
dustrious. The  inn  was  in  despair.  The  village  was 
in  despair.  A  Frenchman  will  go  without  meat,  but 
life  without  bread  is  unthinkable. 

No  one  thought  of  the  child. 

It  is  possible  that  in  her  double  grief  she  did  not 
think  of  herself — for  twenty-four  hours.  But  the  sec- 
ond day  after  mobilization  her  shop  window  was  piled 
high  with  loaves  as  usual.  The  inn  was  supplied.  The 
village  was  supplied.  This  little  girl  worked  steadily 
and  unaided  at  her  task,  until  her  father,  a  year  later, 
returned  minus  a  leg  to  give  her  assistance  of  a  sort. 

The  business  of  the  bakery  was  nearly  doubled  dur- 
ing that  time.  Automobiles  containing  officers,  huge 
camions  with  soldiers  packed  like  coffee-beans,  foot- 
weary  marching  regiments,  with  no  time  to  stop  for 
a  meal,  halted  a  moment  and  bought  the  stock  on 
hand.  But  with  only  a  few  hours'  sleep  the  girl  toiled 
on  valiantly  and  no  applicant  for  bread  was  turned 
empty-handed  from  the  now  famous  bakery. 

How  she  kept  up  her  childish  strength  and  courage 
without  a  moment's  change  in  her  routine  and  on  in- 
sufficient sleep  can  only  be  explained  by  the  twin  facts 
that  she  came  of  hardy  peasant  stock,  and,  like  all 
French  children,  no  matter  how  individual,  was  too 
thoroughly  imbued  with  the  discipline  of  "The  Fam- 
ily" to  shirk  for  a  moment  the  particular  task  that  war 
had  brought  her.  This  iron  discipline  of  The  Family, 
one  of  the  most  salient  characteristics  of  the  French, 
is  largely  responsible  for  the  matter-of-fact  way  in 


THE  SILENT  ARMY  31 

which  every  soldier  of  France,  reservist  or  regular, 
and  whatever  his  political  convictions,  has  risen  to  this 
ordeal.  And  in  him  as  been  inculcated  from  birth 
patience  and  perseverance  as  well  as  loyalty  to  his 
beloved  flag. 

The  wives  of  hotel  and  shop  keepers  as  well  as  the 
women  of  the  farms  have  by  far  the  best  of  it  in 
time  of  war.  The  former  are  always  their  husband's 
partners,  controlling  the  money,  consulted  at  ever  step. 
When  the  tocsin  rings  and  the  men  disappear  they 
simply  go  on.  Their  task  may  be  doubled  and  they 
may  be  forced  to  employ  girls  instead  of  men,  but 
there  is  no  mental  readjusting. 

The  women  of  the  farms  have  always  worked  as 
hard  as  the  men.  Their  doubled  tasks  involve  a 
greater  drain  on  their  physical  energies  than  the  petite 
bourgeoise  suffers,  especially  in  those  districts  de- 
vastated by  the  first  German  invasion — the  valley  of 
the  Marne.  But  they  are  very  hardy,  and  they  too 
hang  on,  for  stoicism  is  the  fundamental  characteristic 
of  the  French. 

This  stoicism  as  well  as  the  unrivaled  mental  supple- 
ness was  illustrated  early  in  the  war  by  the  highly 
typical  case  of  a  laundress  whose  business  was  in  one 
of  the  best  districts  of  Paris. 

In  France  no  washing  is  done  in  the  house.  This, 
no  doubt,  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  one's  laundry 
bills,  even  on  a  brief  visit,  are  among  the  major  items, 
for  les  blanchissenses  are  a  power  in  the  land.  When 
I  was  leaving  Paris  the  directrice  of  the  £cole 


32  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

Feminine  in  Passy,  which  had  been  my  home  for  three 
months,  suggested  delicately  that  I  leave  a  tip  for  the 
laundress,  for,  said  this  practical  person,  herself  a 
sufferer  from  many  forms  of  imposition,  "she  has  been 
extremely  complaisante  in  coming  every  week  .for 
Madame's  wash."  I  remarked  that  the  laundress  might 
reasonably  feel  some  gratitude  to  me  for  adding 
weekly  to  her  curtailed  income;  but  my  smiling  di- 
rectrice  shook  her  head.  The  favor,  it  appeared,  was 
all  on  the  other  side.  So,  although  I  had  tipped  the 
many  girls  of  my  unique  boarding-place  with  pleasure 
I  parted  with  the  sum  designated  for  my  patronizing 
laundress  with  no  grace  whatever. 

But  to  return  to  the  heroine  of  the  story  told  me 
by  Mrs.  Armstrong  Whitney,  one  of  the  many  Amer- 
ican women  living  in  Paris  who  are  working  for 
France. 

This  laundress  had  a  very  large  business,  in  partner- 
ship with  her  husband.  Nobody  was  expected  to 
bring  the  family  washing  to  her  door,  nor  even  to  send 
a  servant.  The  linen  was  called  for  and  delivered, 
for  this  prosperous  firm  owned  several  large  trucks 
and  eight  or  ten  strong  horses. 

War  was  declared.  This  woman's  husband  and  all 
male  employees  were  mobilized.  Her  horses  were 
commandeered.  So  were  her  trucks.  Many  of  her 
wealthier  patrons  were  already  in  the  country  and 
remained  there,  both  for  economy's  sake  and  to  en- 
courage and  help  the  poor  of  their  villages  and  farms. 
The  less  fortunate  made  shift  to  do  their  washing  at 


THE  SILENT  ARMY  33 

home.  Nevertheless  there  were  patrons  who  still 
needed  her  services  at  least  once  a  fortnight. 

This  good  woman  may  have  had  her  moments  of 
despair.  If  so,  the  world  never  knew  it.  She  began 
at  once  to  adjust  herself  to  the  new  conditions  and 
examine  her  resources.  She  importuned  the  Govern- 
ment until,  to  be  rid  of  her,  they  returned  two  of  her 
horses.  She  rented  a  cart  and  employed  girls  sud- 
denly thrown  out  of  work,  to  take  the  place  of  the 
vanished  men.  The  business  limped  on  but  it  never 
ceased  for  a  moment;  and  as  the  months  passed  it  as- 
sumed a  firmer  gait.  People  returned  from  the  coun- 
try, finding  that  they  could  be  more  useful  in  Paris 
as  members  of  one  or  other  of  a  thousand  ceuvres ;  and 
they  were  of  the  class  that  must  have  clean  linen  if 
the  skies  fall.  Also,  many  Americans  who  had  fled 
ignominiously  to  England  returned  and  plunged  into 
work.  And  Americans,  with  their  characteristic  ex- 
travagance in  lingerie,  are  held  in  high  esteem  by  les 
blanchisseuses. 

Further  assaults  upon  the  amiable  Government  re- 
sulted in  the  return  of  more  horses  and  one  or  two 
trucks.  To-day,  while  the  business  by  no  means 
swaggers,  this  woman,  thanks  to  her  indomitable 
courage  and  energy,  combined  with  the  economical 
habit  and  the  financial  genius  of  the  French,  has  rid- 
den safely  over  the  rocks  into  as  snug  a  little  harbor 
as  may  be  found  in  any  country  at  war. 


ASIDE  from  the  industrial  class  the  women  who 
suffered  most  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war  were 
those  that  worked  in  the  shops.  Paris  is  a  city  of 
little  shops.  The  average  American  tourist  knows 
them  not,  for  her  hectic  experiences  in  the  old  days 
were  confined  to  the  Galeries  Lafayette,  the  Louvre, 
the  Bon  Marche,  and  the  Trois  Quartiers.  But  during 
the  greater  part  of  1915  street  after  street  exhibited 
the  dreary  picture  of  shuttered  windows,  where  once 
every  sort  of  delicate,  solid,  ingenious,  costly,  or  catch- 
penny ware  was  displayed.  Some  of  these  were  dosed 
because  the  owner  had  no  wife,  many  because  the 
factories  that  supplied  them  were  closed,  or  the  work- 
men no  longer  could  be  paid.  To-day  one  sees  few 
of  these  wide  iron  shutters  except  at  night,  but  the 
immediate  consequence  of  the  sudden  change  of  the 
nation's  life  was  that  thousands  of  girls  and  women 
were  thrown  out  of  work:  clerks,  cashiers,  dress- 
makers' assistants,  artificial  flower  makers,  florists, 
confectioners,  workers  in  the  fancy  shops,  makers  of 
fine  lingerie,  extra  servants  and  waitresses  in  the  un- 

34 


THE  MUNITION  MAKERS  35" 

fashionable  but  numerous  restaurants.  And  then 
there  were  the  women  of  the  opera  chorus,  and  those 
connected  with  the  theater;  and  not  only  the  actresses' 
and  the  actors'  families,  but  the  wives  of  scene  shifters 
sent  off  to  the  trenches,  and  of  all  the  other  humble 
folk  employed  about  theaters,  great  and  small. 

The  poor  of  France  do  not  invest  their  money  in 
savings'  banks.  They  buy  bonds.  On  the  Monday 
after  mobilization  the  banks  of  France  announced 
that  they  would  buy  no  bonds.  These  poor  bewildered 
women  would  have  starved  if  the  women  of  the  more 
fortunate  classes  had  not  immediately  begun  to  or- 
ganize relief  stations  and  ouvroirs. 

Madame  Lepauze,  better  known  to  the  reading  pub- 
lic of  France  as  Daniel  Lesauer,  who  is  also  the  wife 
of  the  curator  of  the  Petit  Palais,  was  the  first  to 
open  a  restaurant  for  soup,  and  this  was  besieged 
from  morning  until  night  even  before  the  refugees 
from  Belgium  and  the  invaded  districts  of  France 
began  to  pour  in.  Her  home  is  in  the  Petit  Palais, 
and  in  the  public  gardens  behind  was  Le  Pavillion,  one 
of  the  prettiest  and  most  popular  restaurants  of  Paris. 
She  made  no  bones  about  asking  the  proprietor  to 
place  the  restaurant  and  all  that  remained  of  his  staff 
at  her  disposal,  and  hastily  organizing  a  committee, 
began  at  once  to  ladle  out  soup.  Many  other  depots 
were  organized  almost  simultaneously  (and  not  only 
in  Paris  but  in  the  provincial  towns),  and  when  women 
were  too  old  or  too  feeble  to  come  for  their  daily 
ration  it  was  left  at  their  doors  by  carts  containing 


36  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

immense  boilers  of  that  nourishing  soup  only  the 
French  know  how  to  make. 

Madame  Lepauze  estimates  that  her  station  alone 
fed  a  million  women  and  children.  Moreover,  she 
and  all  tfye  other  women  engaged  in  this  patriotic  duty 
had  soon  depleted  their  wardrobes  after  the  refugees 
began  streaming  down  from  the  north;  it  was  gen- 
erally said  that  not  a  lady  in  Paris  had  more  than 
one  useful  dress  left  and  that  was  on  her  back. 

Many  of  these  charitable  women  fled  to  the  South 
during  that  breathless  period  when  German  occupa- 
tion seemed  inevitable,  but  others,  like  Madame  Pierre 
Goujon,  of  whom  I  shall  have  much  to  say  later,  and 
the  Countess  Greffuhle  (a  member  of  the  valiant 
Chimay  family  of  Belgium),  stuck  to  their  posts  and 
went  about  publicly  in  order  to  give  courage  to  the 
millions  whose  poverty  forced  them  to  remain. 

n 

The  next  step  in  aiding  this  army  of  helpless  women 
was  to  open  ouvroirs,  or  workrooms.  Madame 
Paquin  never  closed  this  great  branch  of  her  dress- 
making establishment,  and,  in  common  with  hundreds 
of  other  ouvroirs  that  sprang  up  all  over  France,  paid 
the  women  a  wage  on  which  they  could  exist  (besides 
giving  them  one  meal)  in  return  for  at  least  half  a 
day's  work  on  necessary  articles  for  the  men  in  the 
trenches:  underclothing,  sleeping  bags,  felt  slippers, 
night  garments;  sheets  and  pillow-cases  for  the  hos- 


THE  MUNITION  MAKERS  37 

pitals.  As  the  vast  majority  of  the  peasant  farmers 
and  petite  bourgeoisie  had  been  used  to  sleeping  in  air- 
tight rooms  they  suffered  bitterly  during  that  first 
long  winter  and  spring  in  the  open.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  these  bee-hive  ouvroirs  and  their  enormous  output 
there  would  have  been  far  more  deaths  from  pneu- 
monia and  bronchitis,  and  far  more  cases  of  tuber- 
culosis than  there  were. 

A  good  many  of  these  ouvroirs  are  still  in  existence, 
but  many  have  been  closed ;  for  as  the  shops  reopened 
the  women  not  only  went  back  to  their  former  situa- 
tions but  by  degrees  either  applied  for  or  were  in- 
vited to  fill  those  left  vacant  by  men  of  fighting  age. 

in 

And  then  there  were  the  munition  factories!  The 
manager  of  one  of  these  Usines  de  Guerre  in  Paris 
told  me  that  he  made  the  experiment  of  employing 
women  with  the  deepest  misgiving.  Those  seeking 
positions  were  just  the  sort  of  women  he  would  have 
rejected  if  the  sturdy  women  of  the  farms  had  ap- 
plied and  given  him  any  choice.  They  were  girls  or 
young  married  women  who  had  spent  all  the  work- 
ing years  of  their  lives  stooping  over  sewing-machines ; 
sunken  chested  workers  in  artificial  flowers;  confec- 
tioners ;  florists ;  waitresses ;  clerks.  One  and  all  looked 
on  the  verge  of  a  decline  with  not  an  ounce  of  reserve 
vitality  for  work  that  taxed  the  endurance  of  men. 
But  as  they  protested  that  they  not  only  wished  to 


38  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

support  themselves  instead  of  living  on  charity,  but 
were  passionately  desirous  of  doing  their  bit  while 
their  men  were  enduring  the  dangers  and  privations 
of  active  warfare,  and  as  his  men  were  being  with- 
drawn daily  for  service  at  the  Front,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  employ  them  and  refill  their  places  as  rapidly 
as  they  collapsed. 

He  took  me  over  his  great  establishment  and  showed 
me  the  result.  It  was  one  of  the  astonishing  ex- 
amples not  only  of  the  grim  courage  of  women  under 
pressure  but  of  that  nine-lived  endowment  of  the 
female  in  which  the  male  never  can  bring  himself  to 
believe  save  only  when  confronted  by  practical  demon- 
stration. 

In  the  correspondence  and  card-indexing  room 
there  was  a  little  army  of  young  and  middle-aged 
women  whose  superior  education  enabled  them  to  do 
a  long  day's  work  with  the  minimum  output  of  phy- 
sical energy,  and  these  for  the  most  part  came  from 
solid  middle-class  families  whose  income  had  been 
merely  cut  by  the  war,  not  extinguished.  It.  was  as  I 
walked  along  the  galleries  and  down  the  narrow  pass- 
ages between  the  noisy  machinery  of  the  rest  of  that 
large  factory  that  I  asked  the  superintendent  again 
and  again  if  these  women  were  of  the  same  class  as 
the  original  applicants.  The  answer  in  every  case  was 
the  same. 

The  women  had  high  chests  and  brawny  arms. 
They  tossed  thirty-  and  forty-pound  shells  from  one 
to  the  other  as  they  once  may  have  tossed  a  cluster  of 


THE  MUNITION  MAKERS  39 

artificial  flowers.  Their  skins  were  clean  and  often 
ruddy.  Their  eyes  were  bright.  They  showed  no 
signs  whatever  of  overwork.  They  were  almost  with- 
out exception  the  original  applicants. 

I  asked  the  superintendent  if  there  were  no  danger 
of  heart  strain.  He  said  there  had  been  no  sign  o-f 
it  so  far.  Three  times  a  week  they  were  inspected  by 
women  doctors  appointed  by  the  Government,  and  any 
little  disorder  was  attended  to  at  once.  But  not  one 
had  been  ill  a  day.  Those  that  had  suffered  from 
chronic  dyspepsia,  colds,  and  tubercular  tendency  were 
now  as  strong  as  if  they  had  lived  their  lives  on  farms. 
It  was  all  a  question  of  plenty  of  fresh  air,  and  work 
that  strengthened  the  muscles  of  their  bodies,  de- 
veloped their  chests  and  gave  them  stout  nerves  and 
long  nights  of  sleep. 

As  I  looked  at  those  bare  heavily  muscled  arms  I 
wondered  if  any  man  belonging  to  them  would  ever 
dare  say  his  soul  was  his  own  again.  But  as  their 
heads  are  always  charmingly  dressed  (an  odd  effect 
surmounting  greasy  overalls)  and  as  they  invariably 
powder  before  filing  out  at  the  end  of  the  day's  work, 
it  is  probable  that  a  comfortable  reliance  may  still 
be  placed  upon  the  ineradicable  coquetry  of  the  French 
woman.  And  the  scarcer  the  men  in  the  future  the 
more  numerous,  no  doubt,  will  be  the  layers  of  powder. 

I  asked  one  pretty  girl  if  she  really  liked  the  heavy, 
dirty,  malodorous  work,  and  she  replied  that  making 
boutonnieres  for  gentlemen  in  a  florist-shop  was  para- 
dise by  contrast,  but  she  was  only  too  happy  to  be 


40  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

doing  as  much  for  France  in  her  way  as  her  brother 
was  in  his.  She  added  that  when  the  war  was  over 
she  should  take  off  her  blue  linen  apron  streaked  with 
machine  grease  once  for  all,  not  remain  from  choice 
as  many  would.  But  meanwhile  it  was  not  so  bad! 
She  made  ten  francs  a  day.  Some  of  the  women  re- 
ceived as  high  as  fifteen.  Moreover,  they  bossed  the 
few  men  whose  brawn  was  absolutely  indispensable 
and  must  be  retained  in  the  usine  at  all  costs. 

These  men  took  their  orders  meekly.  Perhaps  they 
were  amused.  The  French  are  an  ironic  race.  Per- 
haps they  bided  their  time.  But  they  never  dreamed 
of  disobeying  those  Amazons  whose  foot  the  Kaiser 
of  all  the  Boches  had  placed  on  their  necks. 

IV 

One  of  the  greatest  of  these  U sines  de  Guerre  is 
at  Lyons,  in  the  buildings  of  the  Exposition  held 
shortly  before  the  outbreak  of  the  war.  I  went  to 
this  important  Southern  city  (a  beautiful  city,  which 
I  shall  always  associate  with  the  scent  of  locust*-blos- 
soms)  at  the  suggestion  of  James  Hazen  Hyde.  He 
gave  me  a  letter  to  the  famous  Mayor,  M.  Herriot, 
who  was  a  member  of  the  last  Briand  Cabinet. 

M.  Herriot  was  also  a  Senator,  and  as  he  was  leav- 
ing for  Paris  a  few  hours  after  I  presented  my  letter 
he  turned  me  over  to  a  friend  of  his  wife,  Madame 
Castell,  a  native  of  Lyons,  the  daughter  of  one  silk 

*  It  is  called  acacia  in  Europe. 


THE  MUNITION  MAKERS  41 

merchant  and  the  widow  of  another.  This  charming 
young  woman,  who  had  spent  her  married  life  in  New 
York,  by  the  way,  took  me  everywhere,  and  although 
we  traversed  many  vast  distances  in  the  Mayor's  auto- 
mobile, it  seemed  to  me  that  I  walked  as  many  miles 
in  hospitals,  factories,  ateliers  (workrooms  for  teach- 
ing the  mutilated  new  trades),  and  above  all  in  the 
Usine  de  Guerre. 

Here  not  only  were  thousands  of  women  employed 
but  a  greater  variety  of  classes.  The  women  of  the 
town,  unable  to  follow  the  army  and  too  plucky  to  live 
on  charity,  had  been  among  the  first  to  ask  for  work. 
The  directeur  beat  his  forehead  when  I  asked  him  how 
they  behaved  when  not  actually  at  the  machines,  but 
at  least  they  had  proved  as  faithful  and  skillful  as  their 
more  respectable  sisters. 

Lyons  was  far  more  crowded  and  lively  than  Paris, 
which  is  so  quiet  that  it  calls  to  mind  the  lake  that 
filled  the  crater  of  Mont  Pelee  before  the  eruption  of 
1902.  But  this  fine  city  of  the  South — situated  almost 
as  beautifully  as  Paris  on  both  sides  of  a  river — is  not 
only  a  junction,  it  not  only  has  industries  of  all  sorts 
besides  the  greatest  silk  factories  in  the  world,  but 
every  train  these  days  brings  down  wounded  for  its 
many  hospitals,  and  the  next  train  brings  the  family 
and  friends  of  these  men,  who,  when  able  to  afford 
it,  establish  themselves  in  the  city  for  the  period  of 
convalescence.  The  restaurants  and  cafes  were  always 
crowded  and  this  handsome  city  on  the  Rhone  was 
almost  gay. 


42  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

There  were  practically  no  unemployed.  The  old 
women  of  the  poor  went  daily  to  an  empty  court-room 
where  they  sat  in  the  little  amphitheater  sewing  or 
knitting.  In  countless  other  ouvroirs  they  were  cut- 
ting and  making  uniforms  with  the  same  facility  that 
men  had  long  since  acquired,  or  running  sleeping  bags 
through  sewing-machines  at  the  rate  of  thousands  a 
day.  M.  Herriot  "mobilized"  Lyons  early  in  the  war, 
and  its  contribution  to  the  needs  of  the  Front  has 
been  enormous. 

The  re  formes  (men  too  badly  mutilated  to  be  of 
further  use  at  the  front)  are  being  taught  many  new 
trades  in  the  ateliers :  toy-making,  wooden  shoes  with 
leather  tops  for  the  trenches,  cigarette  packages, 
baskets,  typewriting,  stenography,  weaving,  repairing. 
In  one  of  the  many  ateliers  I  visited  with  Madame 
Castell  I  saw  a  man  who  had  only  one  arm,  and  the 
left  at  that,  and  only  a  thumb  and  little  finger  remain- 
ing of  the  ten  he  had  taken  into  war,  learning  to 
write  anew.  When  I  was  shown  one  of  his  exercises 
I  was  astounded.  He  wrote  far  better  than  I  have 
ever  done,  and  I  can  recall  few  handwritings  so  precise 
and  elegant.  One  may  imagine  what  a  man  accom- 
plishes who  still  has  a  good  hand  and  arm.  It  was  both 
interesting  and  pathetic  to  see  these  men  guiding  their 
work  with  their  remaining  hand  and  manipulating  the 
machinery  with  the  stump  of  the  other  arm.  Those 
who  come  out  from  the  battlefields  with  health  intact 
will  be  no  charge  to  the  state,  no  matter  what  their 
mutilations. 


THE  MUNITION  MAKERS  43 

One  poor  fellow  came  in  to  the  ficole  Joffre  while 
I  was  there.  He  was  accompanied  by  three  friends 
of  the  Mayor's,  who  hoped  that  some  one  of  the  new 
occupations  might  suit  his  case.  He  was  large  and 
strong  and  ruddy  and  he  had  no  hands.  Human  in- 
genuity had  not  yet  evolved  far  enough  for  him.  He 
was  crying  quietly  as  he  turned  away.  But  his  case 
is  by  no  means  hopeless,  for  when  his  stumps  are  no 
longer  sensitive  he  will  be  fitted  with  a  mechanical 
apparatus  that  will  take  the  place  of  the  hands  he  has 
given  to  France. 

Madame  Castell's  work  is  supplying  hospitals  with 
anything,  except  food,  they  may  demand,  and  in  this 
she  has  been  regularly  helped  by  the  Needlework  Guild 
of  Pennsylvania. 

Madame  Herriot's  ouvroir  occupies  the  magnificent 
festal  salon  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  with  its  massive 
chandeliers  and  its  memories  of  a  thousand  dinners 
and  balls  of  state  from  the  days  of  Louis  XIV  down 
to  the  greatest  of  its  mayors.  She  supplies  French 
prisoners  in  Germany  with  the  now  famous  comfort 
packages.  Some  of  them  she  and  her  committee  put 
up  themselves;  others  are  brought  in  by  members  of 
the  family  or  the  friends  of  the  unfortunate  men  in 
Germany.  The  piece  de  resistance  had  always  been 
a  round  loaf  of  bread,  but  on  the  day  I  first  visited 
the  salon  consternation  was  reigning.  Word  had 
come  from  Germany  that  no  more  bread  nor  any  sort 
of  food  stuff  should  be  sent  in  the  packages,  and  hun- 
dreds were  being  unpacked.  Crisp  loaves  of  bread 


44  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

that  would  have  brought  comfort  to  many  a  poor  soul 
were  lying  all  over  the  place. 

The  secret  of  the  order  was  that  civilian  Germans 
were  begging  bread  of  the  French  prisoners,  and  this, 
of  course,  was  bad  for  the  tenderly  nursed  German 
morale. 


IV 

MADEMOISELLE  JAVAL  AND  THE  ECLOPES 


MLLE.  JAVAL,  unlike  Madame  Balli,  was  not  a 
member  of  the  fashionable  society  of  Paris,  a 
fcmme  du  monde,  or  a  reigning  beauty.  But  in  certain 
respects  their  cases  were  not  dissimilar.  Born  into  one 
of  the  innumerable  sets-within-sets  of  the  upper  bour- 
geoisie, living  on  inherited  wealth,  seeing  as  little  as 
possible  of  the  world  beyond  her  immediate  circle  of 
relatives  and  friends,  as  curiously  indifferent  to  it  as 
only  a  haughty  French  bourgeoise  can  be,  growing  up 
in  a  large  and  comfortable  home — according  to  French 
ideas  of  comfort — governing  it,  when  the  duty  de- 
scended to  her  shoulders,  with  all  the  native  and  prac- 
tised economy  of  the  French  woman,  but  until  her 
mother's  illness  without  a  care,  and  even  then  without 
an  extra  contact,  Mile.  Javal's  life  slipped  along  for 
many  years  exactly  as  the  lives  of  a  million  other 
girls  in  that  entrenched  secluded  class  slipped  along 
before  the  tocsin,  ringing  throughout  the  land  on 
August  2,  1914,  announced  that  once  more  the  men 
of  France  must  fight  to  defend  the  liberty  of  all  classes 
alike, 

45 


46  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

Between  wars  the  great  central  mass  of  the  popu- 
lation in  France  known  as  the  bourgeoisie — who  may 
be  roughly  defined  as  those  that  belong  neither  to  the 
noblesse  at  one  end  nor  to  the  industrials  and  peasant 
proprietors  at  the  other,  but  have  capital,  however 
minute,  invested  in  rentes  or  business,  and  who,  be- 
ginning with  the  grande  bourgeoisie,  the  haughty 
possessors  of  great  inherited  fortunes,  continuing 
through  the  financial  and  commercial  magnates, 
down  to  the  petite  bourgeoisie  who  keep  flour- 
ishing little  shops,  hotels,  etc. — live  to  get  the  most 
out  of  life  in  their  narrow,  traditional,  curiously  in- 
tensive way.  They  detest  travel,  although  at  least 
once  in  their  lives  they  visit  Switzerland  and  Italy; 
possibly,  but  with  no  such  alarming  frequency  as  to 
suggest  an  invasion,  England. 

The  most  aspiring  read  the  literature  of  the  day, 
see  the  new  plays  (leaving  the  jeune  fille  at  home), 
take  an  intelligent  interest  in  the  politics  of  their  own 
country,  visit  the  annual  salons,  and  if  really  advanced 
discuss  with  all  the  national  animation  such  violent 
eruptions  upon  the  surface  of  the  delicately  poised 
art  life,  which  owes  its  very  being  to  France,  as  im- 
pressionism, cubism,  etc.  Except  among  the  very  rich, 
where,  as  elsewhere,  temptations  are  many  and  press- 
ing, they  have  few  scandals  to  discuss,  but  much 
gossip,  and  there  is  the  ever  recurrent  flutter  over 
births,  marriages,  deaths.  They  have  no  snobbery  in 
the  climber's  sense.  When  a  bourgeois,  however 
humble  in  origin,  graduates  as  an  "intellectual"  he  is 


MLLE.  JAVAL  AND  THE  ECLOPES       47 

received  with  enthusiasm  (if  his  table  manners  will 
pass  muster)  by  the  noblesse;  but  it  is  far  more  diffi- 
cult for  a  nobleman  to  enter  the  house  of  a  bourgeois. 
It  is  seldom  that  he  wants  to,  but  sometimes  there 
are  sound  financial  reasons  for  forming  this  almost 
illegitimate  connection,  and  then  his  motives  are  pene- 
trated by  the  keen  French  mind — a  mind  born  with- 
out illusions — and  interest  alone  dictates  the  issue. 
The  only  climbers  in  our  sense  are  the  wives  of  poli- 
ticians suddenly  risen  to  eminence,  and  even  then  the 
social  ambitions  of  these  ladies  are  generally  con- 
fined to  arriving  in  the  exclusive  circles  of  the  haute 
bourgeoisie. 

The  bourgeoisie  are  as  proud  of  their  class  as  the 
noblesse  of  theirs,  and  its  top  stratum  regards  itself 
as  the  real  aristocracy  of  the  Republique  Frangaise, 
the  families  bearing  ancient  titles  as  anachronistic; 
although  oddly  enough  they  and  the  ancient  noblesse 
are  quite  harmonious  in  their  opinion  of  the  Napoleonic 
aristocracy!  One  of  the  leaders  in  the  grande  bour- 
geoisie wrote  me  at  a  critical  moment  in  the  affairs  of 
Greece:  "It  looks  as  if  Briand  would  succeed  in 
placing  the  lovely  Princess  George  of  Greece  on  the 
throne,  and  assuredly  it  is  better  for  France  to  have  a 
Bonaparte  there  than  no  one  at  all !" 

It  is  only  when  war  comes  and  the  men  and  women 
of  the  noblesse  rise  to  the  call  of  their  country  as 
automatically  as  a  reservist  answers  the  tocsin  or  the 
printed  order  of  mobilization,  that  the  bourgeoisie  is 
forced  to  concede  that  there  is  a  tremendous  power 


48  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

still  resident  in  the  prestige,  organizing  ability,  social 
influence,  tireless  energy,  and  self-sacrifice  of  the  dis- 
dained aristocracy. 

During  the  war  ceuvres  have  been  formed  on  so 
vast  a  scale  that  one  sees  on  many  committee  lists  the 
names  of  noblesse  and  bourgeois  side  by  side.  But 
it  is  a  defensive  alliance,  bred  of  the  stupendous  neces- 
sities of  war,  and  wherever  possible  each  prefers  to 
work  without  the  assistance  of  the  other.  The  French 
Army  is  the  most  democratic  in  the  world.  French 
society  has  no  conception  of  the  word,  and  neither 
noblesse  nor  bourgeoisie  has  the  faintest  intention  of 
taking  it  up  as  a  study.  There  is  no  active  antagonism 
between  the  two  classes — save,  to  be  sure,  when  indi- 
vidual members  show  their  irreconcilable  peculiarities 
at  committee  meetings — merely  a  profound  indiffer- 
ence. 

II 

Mile.  Javal,  although  living  the  usual  restricted  life 
before  the  war,  and  far  removed  from  that  section  of 
her  class  that  had  begun  to  astonish  Paris  by  an  un- 
precedented surrender  to  the  extravagancies  in  public 
which  seemed  to  obsess  the  world  before  Europe  ab- 
ruptly returned  to  its  normal  historic  condition  of 
warfare,  was  as  highly  educated,  as  conversant  with 
the  affairs  of  the  day,  political,  intellectual,  and  ar- 
tistic, as  any  young  woman  in  Europe.  But  the  war 
found  her  in  a  semi-invalid  condition  and  heart- 
broken over  the  death  of  her  mother,  whom  she  had 


MLLE.  JAVAL  AND  THE  ECLOPES      49 

nursed  devotedly  through  a  long  illness;  her  girlhood 
intimacies  broken  up  not  only  by  the  marriage  of  her 
friends,  but  also  by  her  own  long  seclusion;  and — 
being  quite  French — feeling  too  aged,  at  a  little  over 
thirty,  ever  to  interest  any  man  again,  aside  from  her 
fortune.  In  short  she  regarded  her  life  as  finished, 
but  she  kept  house  dutifully  for  her  brother — her 
only  close  relation — and  surrendered  herself  to  mel- 
ancholy reflections. 

Then  came  the  war.  At  first  she  took  merely  the 
languid  interest  demanded  by  her  intelligence,  being 
too  absorbed  in  her  own  low  condition  to  experience 
more  than  a  passing  thrill  of  patriotic  fervor.  But 
she  still  read  the  newspapers,  and,  moreover,  women 
in  those  first  anxious  days  were  meeting  and  talking 
far  more  frequently  than  was  common  to  a  class  that 
preferred  their  own  house  and  garden  to  anything 
their  friends,  or  the  boulevards,  or  even  the  parks  of 
Paris,  could  offer  them.  Mile.  Javal  found  herself 
seeing  more  and  more  of  that  vast  circle  of  inherited 
friends  as  well  as  family  connections  which  no  well- 
born bourgeoise  can  escape,  and  gradually  became  in- 
fected with  the  excitement  of  the  hour;  despite  the 
fact  that  she  believed  her  poor  worn-out  body  never 
would  take  a  long  walk  again. 

Then,  one  day,  the  thought  suddenly  illuminated 
her  awakening  mind :  "How  fortunate  I  am !  I  have 
no  one  to  lose  in  this  terrible  war!"  (Her  brother  was 
too  delicate  for  service.)  "These  tears  I  see  every 
day  after  news  has  come  that  a  father,  a  brother,  a 


50  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

husband,  a  son,  has  fallen  on  the  battlefield  or  died  of 
horrible  agony  in  hospital,  I  shall  never  shed.  Al- 
most alone  of  the  many  I  know,  and  the  millions  of 
women  in  France,  I  am  mercifully  exempt  from  an 
agony  that  has  no  end.  If  I  were  married,  and  were 
older  and  had  sons,  I  should  be  suffering  unendur- 
ably  now.  I  am  fortunate  indeed  and  feel  an  ingrate 
that  I  have  ever  repined." 

Then  naturally  enough  followed  the  thought  that  it 
behooved  her  to  do  something  for  her  country,  not 
only  as  a  manifest  of  thanksgiving  but  also  because  it 
was  her  duty  as  a  young  woman  of  wealth  and 
leisure. 

Oddly  enough  considering  the  delicate  health  in 
which  she  firmly  believed,  she  tried  to  be  a  nurse. 
There  were  many  amateurs  in  the  hospitals  in  those 
days  when  France  was  as  short  of  nurses  as  of  every- 
thing else  except  men,  and  she  was  accepted. 

But  nursing  then  involved  standing  all  day  on  one's 
feet  and  sometimes  all  night  as  well,  and  her  pampered 
body  was  far  from  strong  enough  for  such  a  tax  in 
spite  of  her  now  glowing  spirit.  While  she  was  cast- 
ing about  for  some  work  in  which  she  might  really 
play  a  useful  and  beneficent  role  a  friend  invited  her 
to  drive  out  to  the  environs  of  Paris  and  visit  the 
wretched  eclopes,  to  whom  several  charitable  ladies 
occasionally  took  little  gifts  of  cigarettes  and  choco- 
late. 

Then,  at  last,  Mile.  Javal  found  herself;  and  from 
a  halting  apprehensive  seeker,  still  weary  in  mind  and 


MLLE.  JAVAL  AND  THE  ECLOPES       51 

limb,  she  became  almost  abruptly  one  of  the  most 
original  and  executive  women  in  France — incidentally 
one  of  the  healthiest.  When  I  met  her,  some  twenty 
months  later,  she  had  red  cheeks  and  was  the  only 
one  of  all  those  women  of  all  classes  slaving  for 
France  who  told  me  she  never  felt  tired;  in  fact  felt 
stronger  every  day. 

in 

The  eclopes,  in  the  new  adaptation  of  the  word,  are 
men  who  are  not  ill  enough  for  the  military  hospitals 
and  not  well  enough  to  fight.  They  may  have  slight 
wounds,  or  temporary  affections  of  the  sight  or  hear- 
ing, the  effect  of  heavy  colds;  or  rheumatism,  debili- 
tating sore  throat,  or  furiously  aching  teeth;  or  they 
may  be  suffering  too  severely  from  shock  to  be  of 
any  use  in  the  trenches. 

There  are  between  six  and  seven  thousand  hospi- 
tals in  France  to-day  (possibly  more:  the  French 
never  will  give  you  any  exact  military  figures;  but 
certainly  not  less)  ;  but  their  beds  are  for  the  severely 
wounded  or  for  those  suffering  from  dysentery,  fevers, 
pneumonia,  bronchitis,  tuberculosis.  In  those  first  days 
of  war  before  France,  caught  unprepared  in  so  many 
ways,  had  found  herself  and  settled  down  to  the  busi- 
ness of  war;  in  that  trying  interval  while  she  was  ill 
equipped  to  care  for  men  brought  in  hourly  to  the  base 
hospitals,  shattered  by  new  and  hideous  wounds ;  there 
was  no  place  for  the  merely  ailing.  Men  with  organic 
affections,  suddenly  developed  under  the  terrific  strain, 


52  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

were  dismissed  as  Reformes  Numero  II — unmutilated 
in  the  service  of  their  country;  in  other  words,  dis- 
missed from  the  army  and,  for  nearly  two  years,  with- 
out pension.  But  the  large  number  of  those  tempor- 
arily out  of  condition  were  sent  back  of  the  lines,  or 
to  a  sort  of  camp  outside  of  Paris,  to  rest  until  they 
were  in  a  condition  to  fight  again. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  Mile.  Javal  it  is  possible  that 
more  men  than  one  cares  to  estimate  would  never  have 
fought  again.  The  eclopes  at  that  time  were  the  most 
abject  victims  of  the  war.  They  remained  together 
under  military  discipline,  either  behind  the  lines  or  on 
the  outskirts  of  Paris,  herded  in  barns,  empty  fac- 
tories, thousands  sleeping  without  shelter  of  any  sort. 
Straw  for  the  most  part  composed  their  beds,  food 
was  coarse  and  scanty ;  they  were  so  wretched  and  un- 
comfortable, so  exposed  to  the  elements,  and  without 
care  of  any  sort,  that  their  slight  ailments  developed 
not  infrequently  into  serious  and  sometimes  fatal  cases 
of  bronchitis,  pneumonia,  and  even  tuberculosis. 

This  was  a  state  of  affairs  well  known  to  General 
Joffre  and  none  caused  him  more  distress  and  anxiety. 
But — this  was  between  August  and  November,  1914, 
it  must  be  remembered,  when  France  was  anything 
but  the  magnificent  machine  she  is  to-day — it  was 
quite  impossible  for  the  authorities  to  devote  a  cell 
of  their  harassed  brains  to  the  temporarily  inept. 
Every  executive  mind  in  power  was  absorbed  in  pin- 
ning the  enemy  down,  since  he  could  not  be  driven 
put,  feeding  the  vast  numbers  of  men  at  the  Front, 


MLLE.  JAVAL  AND  THE  ECLOPES       53 

reorganizing  the  munition  factories,  planning  for  the 
vast  supplies  of  ammunition  suddenly  demanded, 
equipping  the  hospitals — when  the  war  broke  out  there 
were  no  installations  in  the  hospitals  near  the  Front 
except  beds — obtaining  the  necessary  amount  of  surg- 
ical supplies,  taking  care  of  the  refugees  that  poured 
into  the  larger  cities  by  every  train  not  only  from 
Belgium  but  from  the  French  towns  invaded  or 
bombarded — to  mention  but  a  few  of  the  problems  that 
beset  France  suddenly  forced  to  rally  and  fight  for 
her  life,  and,  owing  to  the  Socialist  majority  in  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies,  criminally  unprepared. 

There  were  plenty  of  able  minds  in  France  that 
knew  what  was  coming;  months  before  the  war  broke 
out  (a  year,  one  of  the  infirmiere  majors  told  me;  but, 
as  I  have  said,  it  is  difficult  to  pin  a  French  official 
down  to  exact  statements)  the  Service  de  Sante 
(Health  Department  of  the  Ministry  of  War)  asked 
the  Countess  d'Haussonville,  President  of  the  Red 
Cross,  to  train  as  many  nurses  as  quickly  as  possible, 
for  there  was  not  an  extra  nurse  in  a  military  hospital 
of  France — in  many  there  was  none  at  all.  But  these 
patriotic  and  far-sighted  men  were  powerless.  The 
three  years'  service  bill  was  the  utmost  result  of  their 
endeavors,  and  for  six  months  after  the  war  began 
they  had  not  a  gun  larger  than  the  famous  Seventy- 
fives  but  those  captured  at  the  Battle  of  the  Marne. 

As  for  the  poor  eclopes,  there  never  was  a  clearer 
example  of  the  weaker  going  to  the  wall  and  the  devil 
taking  the  hindmost.  They  had  been  turned  out  to 


54  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

grass  mildly  afflicted,  but  in  a  short  time  they  were 
progressing  rapidly  toward  the  grave  or  that  detest- 
able status  known  as  Reformes  Numero  II.  And 
every  man  counts  in  France.  Quite  apart  from 
humanity  it  was  a  terribly  serious  question  for  the 
Grand  Quartier  General,  where  Joffre  and  his  staff 
had  their  minds  on  the  rack. 


IV 

The  Cure  of  St.  Honore  d'Eylau  was  the  first  to 
discover  the  eclopes,  and  not  only  sent  stores  to  cer- 
tain of  the  depots  where  they  were  herded,  but  per- 
suaded several  ladies  of  Paris  to  visit  and  take  them 
little  presents.  But  practically  every  energetic  and  pa- 
triotic woman  in  France  was  already  mobilized  in  the 
service  of  her  country.  As  I  have  explained  elsewhere, 
they  had  opened  ouvroirs,  where  working  girls  sud- 
denly deprived  of  the  means  of  livelihood  could  fend 
off  starvation  by  making  underclothing  and  other 
necessaries  for  the  men  at  the  Front.  Upon  these  de- 
voted women,  assisted  by  nearly  all  the  American 
women  resident  in  Paris,  fell  to  a  great  extent  the  care 
of  the  refugees;  and  many  were  giving  out  rations 
three  times  a  day,  not  only  to  refugees  but  to  the  poor 
of  Paris,  suddenly  deprived  of  their  wage  earners.  It 
was  some  time  before  the  Government  got  round  to 
paying  the  daily  allowance  of  one- franc-twenty-five  to 
the  wives  and  seventy-five  centimes  (fifty  outside  of 
Paris)  for  each  child,  known  as  the  allocation.  More- 


MLLE.  JAVAL  AND  THE  ECLOPES       55 

over,  in  those  dread  days  when  the  Germans  were  driv- 
ing straight  for  Paris,  many  fled  with  the  Govern- 
ment to  Bordeaux  (not  a  few  Americans  ignomini- 
ously  scampered  off  to  England)  and  did  not  return 
for  three  weeks  or  more;  during  which  time  those 
brave  enough  to  remain  did  ten  times  as  much  work 
as  should  be  expected  even  of  the  nine-lived  female. 

They  knew  at  this  critical  time  as  well  as  later  when 
they  were  breathing  normally  again  that  the  poor 
eclopes  beyond  the  barrier  were  without  shelter  in  the 
autumn  rains  and  altogether  in  desperate  plight;  but 
it  was  only  now  and  again  that  a  few  found  time  to 
pay  them  a  hasty  visit  and  cheer  them  with  those  little 
gifts  so  dear  to  the  imaginative  heart  of  the  French 
soldier.  Sooner  or  later,  of  course,  the  Government 
would  have  taken  them  in  hand  and  organized  them  as 
meticulously  as  they  have  organized  every  conceivable 
angle  of  this  great  struggle;  but  meanwhile  thousands 
would  have  died  or  shambled  home  to  litter  the  villages 
as  hopeless  invalids.  Perhaps  hundreds  of  thousands 
is  a  safer  computation,  and  these  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands Mile.  Javal  saved  for  France. 


Today  there  are  over  one  hundred  and  thirty 
ficlope  Depots  in  France ;  two  or  three  are  near  Paris, 
the  rest  in  the  towns  and  villages  of  the  War  Zone. 
The  long  baraques  are  well  built,  rain-proof  and 
draught-proof,  but  with  many  windows  which  are  open 


56  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

when  possible,  and  furnished  with  comfortable  beds. 
In  each  depot  there  is  a  hospital  baraque  for  those  that 
need  that  sort  of  rest  or  care,  a  diet  kitchen,  and  a 
fine  large  kitchen  for  those  that  can  eat  anything  and 
have  appetites  of  daily  increasing  vigor. 

These  depots  are  laid  out  like  little  towns,  the  streets 
of  the  large  ones  named  after  famous  generals  and 
battles.  Down  one  side  is  a  row  of  low  buildings 
in  which  the  officers,  doctors  and  nurses  sleep;  a 
chemist  shop;  a  well-fitted  bathroom;  storerooms  for 
supplies ;  and  consulting  offices.  There  is  also,  almost 
invariably,  a  cantine  set  up  by  young  women — Eng- 
lish, American,  French — where  the  men  are  supplied 
at  any  time  with  cocoa,  coffee,  milk,  lemonade,  cakes ; 
and  the  little  building  itself  is  gaily  decorated  to  please 
the  color-loving  French  eye. 

Mile.  Javal  took  me  out  to  the  environs  of  Paris 
to  visit  one  of  the  largest  of  these  depots,  and  there 
the  men  in  hospital  were  nursed  by  Sisters  of  Charity. 
There  was  a  set  of  well-filled  bookshelves  and  a  stage 
in  the  great  refectory,  where  the  men  could  sit  on 
rainy  days,  read,  write  letters,  sing,  smoke,  recite,  and 
get  up  little  plays.  I  saw  a  group  of  very  contented 
looking  poilus  in  the  yard  playing  cards  and  smoking 
under  a  large  tree. 

The  surroundings  were  hideous — a  railroad  yard  if 
I  am  not  mistaken — but  the  little  "town"  itself  was 
very  pleasing  to  the  eye,  and  certainly  a  haven  of 
refuge  for  soldiers  whose  bodies  and  minds  needed 
only  repose,  care,  and  kind  words  to  send  them  back 


MLLE.  JAVAL  AND  THE  ECLOPES       57 

to  the  Front  sounder  by  far  than  they  had  been  in 
their  unsanitary  days  before  the  war. 

Here  they  are  forced  to  sleep  with  their  windows 
open,  to  bathe,  eat  good  food,  instead  of  mortifying 
the  body  for  the  sake  of  filling  the  family  stocking; 
and  they  are  doctored  intelligently,  their  teeth  filled, 
their  tonsils  and  adenoids  taken  out,  their  chronic  in- 
digestion cured.  Those  who  survive  the  war  will 
never  forget  the  lesson  and  will  do  missionary  work 
when  they  are  at  home  once  more. 

All  that  was  dormant  in  Mile.  Javal's  fine  brain 
seemed  to  awake  under  the  horrifying  stimulus  of  that 
first  visit  to  the  wretches  herded  like  animals  outside 
of  Paris,  where  every  man  thought  he  was  drafted  for 
death  and  did  not  care  whether  he  was  or  not ;  where, 
in  short,  morale,  so  precious  an  asset  to  any  nation  in 
time  of  war,  was  practically  nil. 

The  first  step  was  to  get  a  powerful  committee  to- 
gether. Mile.  Javal,  although  wealthy,  could  not  carry 
through  this  gigantic  task  alone.  The  moratorium  had 
stopped  the  payment  of  rents,  factories  were  closed, 
tenants  mobilized.  Besides,  she  had  already  given 
right  and  left,  as  everybody  else  had  done  who  had 
anything  to  give.  It  was  growing  increasingly  diffi- 
cult to  raise  money. 

But  nothing  could  daunt  Mile.  Javal.  She  managed 
to  get  together  with  the  least  possible  delay  a  com- 
mittee of  three  hundred,  and  she  obtained  subscriptions 
in  money  from  one  thousand  five  hundred  firms,  be- 


58  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

sides  donations  of  food  and  clothing  from  eight 
hundred  others,  headed  by  the  King  of  Spain. 

Her  subscription  list  was  opened  by  President 
Poincare  with  a  gift  of  one  thousand  francs;  the 
American  War  Relief  Clearing  House  gave  her  four 
thousand  three  hundred  francs,  Madame  Viviani  con- 
tributed four  thousand  francs;  the  Comedie  Fran- 
c.aise  one  thousand,  and  Raphael  Weill  of  San  Fran- 
cisco seven  thousand  seven  hundred  and  fifty;  Alex- 
ander Phillips  of  New  York  three  thousand ;  and  capi- 
talists, banks,  bank  clerks,  civil  servants,  colonials, 
school  children,  contributed  sums  great  and  small. 

Concerts  were  given,  bazaars  hastily  but  successfully 
organized,  collections  taken  up.  There  was  no  end  to 
Mile.  Javal's  resource,  and  the  result  was  an  almost 
immediate  capital  of  several  hundred  thousand  francs. 
When  public  interest  was  fairly  roused,  les  pauvres 
eclopes  became  one  of  the  abiding  concerns  of  the 
French  people,  and  they  have  responded  as  generously 
as  they  did  to  the  needs  of  the  more  picturesque 
refugee  or  the  starving  within  their  gates. 

This  great  organization,  known  as  "L' Assistance 
aux  Depots  d'ficlopes,  Petits  Blesses  et  Petites  Ma- 
lades,  et  aux  Cantonments  de  Repos,"  was  formally  in- 
augurated on  November  14,  1914,  with  Madame  Jules 
Ferry  as  President,  and  Madame  Viviani  as  Vice- 
President.  Mile.  Javal  shows  modestly  on  the  official 
list  as  Secretaire  Generate. 

The  Government  agreed  to  put  up  the  baraques,  and 
did  so  with  the  least  possible  delay.  Mile.  Javal  and 


MLLE.  JAVAL  AND  THE  ECLOPES       59 

her  Committee  furnish  the  beds  (there  were  seven 
hundred  in  one  of  the  depots  she  showed  me) ,  support 
the  dietary  kitchen  and  the  hospital  baraques,  and  sup- 
ply the  bathrooms,  libraries,  and  all  the  little  luxuries. 
The  Government  supports  the  central  kitchen  (grand 
regime),  the  doctors,  and,  when  necessary,  the  sur- 
geons. 

VI 

Mile.  Javal  took  me  twice  through  the  immense 
establishment  on  the  Champs  filysees,  where  she  has 
not  only  her  offices  but  workrooms  and  storerooms. 
In  one  room  a  number  of  ladies — in  almost  all  of 
these  ceuvres  women  give  their  services,  remaining  all 
day  or  a  part  of  every  day — were  doing  nothing  but 
rolling  cigarettes.  I  looked  at  them  with  a  good  deal 
of  interest.  They  belonged  to  that  class  of  French 
life  I  have  tried  to  describe,  in  which  the  family  is  the 
all  important  unit;  where  children  rarely  play  with 
other  children,  sometimes  never;  where  the  mother  is 
a  sovereign  who  is  content  to  remain  within  the 
boundaries  of  her  own  small  domain  for  months  at  a 
time,  particularly  if  she  lives  not  in  an  apartment, 
but  in  an  hotel  with  a  garden  behind  it.  Thousands 
of  these  exemplary  women  of  the  bourgeoisie — hun- 
dreds of  thousands — care  little  or  nothing  for  "so- 
ciety." They  call  at  stated  intervals,  upon  which  cere- 
monious occasion  they  drink  coffee  and  eat  pastry; 
give  their  young  people  dances  when  the  exact  con- 
ventional moment  has  arrived  for  putting  them  on  the 


60  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

market,  and  turn  out  in  force  at  the  great  periodicities 
of  life,  but  otherwise  to  live  and  die  in  the  bosom 
of  The  Family  is  the  measure  of  their  ambition. 

I  shall  have  a  good  deal  to  say  later  of  the  possible 
results  of  the  vast  upheaval  of  home  life  caused  by 
this  war ;  but  of  these  women  sitting  for  hours  on  end 
in  a  back  room  of  Mile.  Javal's  central  establishment 
in  Paris  it  is  only  necessary  to  state  that  they  looked 
as  intent  upon  making  cigarettes  in  a  professional 
manner,  beyond  cavil  by  the  canny  poilu,  as  if  they 
were  counting  the  family  linen  or  superintending  one 
of  the  stupendous  facts  of  existence,  a  daughter's 
trousseau.  Only  the  one  to  whom  I  was  introduced 
raised  her  eyes,  and  I  should  not  have  been  expected 
to  distract  her  attention  for  a  moment  had  not  she 
told  Mile.  Javal  that  she  had  read  my  books  (in  the 
Tauchnitz  edition)  and  would  like  to  meet  me  when 
I  called. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  everything  conceivable  was  in 
those  large  storerooms.  I  had  grown  used  to  seeing 
piles  of  sleeping-suits,  sleeping-bags,  trench  slippers, 
warm  underclothes,  sabots,  all  that  is  comprised  in  the 
word  vetement;  but  here  were  also  immense  boxes  of 
books  and  magazines,  donated  by  different  firms  and 
editors,  about  to  be  shipped  to  the  depots;  games  of 
every  sort;  charming  photogravures,  sketches,  prints, 
pictures,  that  would  make  the  baraques  gay  and  be- 
loved— all  to  be  interspersed,  however,  with  mottoes 
from  famous  writers  calculated  to  elevate  not  only  the 
morale  but  the  morals  of  Jthe  idle. 


MLLE.  JAVAL  AND  THE  ECLOPES       61 

Then  there  were  cases  of  handkerchiefs,  of  pens 
and  paper,  pencils,  songs  with  and  without  music, 
knives,  pipes,  post-cards,  razors,  parasiticides,  choco- 
late, vaseline,  perfumes  (many  of  these  articles  are 
donations  from  manufacturers),  soap  in  vast  quanti- 
ties; books  serious  and  diverting1;  pamphlets  purposed 
to  keep  patriotism  at  fever  pitch,  or  to  give  the  often 
ignorant  peasant  soldier  a  clear  idea  of  the  designs  of 
the  enemy. 

In  small  compartments  at  one  end  of  the  largest 
of  the  rooms  were  exhibited  the  complete  installations 
of  the  baraques,  the  portable  beds,  kitchen  and  dining- 
room  utensils  and  dishes,  all  extraordinarily  neat  and 
compact.  In  another  room  was  a  staff  engaged  in 
correspondence  with  officers,  doctors  and  surgeons  at 
the  Front,  poilus,  or  the  hundred  and  one  sources  that 
contribute  to  the  great  ceuvre.  Girls,  young  widows, 
young  and  middle-aged  married  women  whose  hus- 
bands and  sons  were  fighting,  all  give  their  days  freely 
and  work  far  harder  and  more  conscientiously  than 
most  women  do  for  hire. 

All  of  these  presents,  when  they  arrive  at  the 
depots,  are  given  out  personally  by  the  officers,  and 
this  as  much  as  the  genuine  democracy  of  the  men  in 
command  has  served  to  break  down  the  suspicious  or 
surly  spirit  of  the  French  peasant  on  his  first  service, 
to  win  over  the  bumptious  industrial,  and  even  to 
subdue  the  militant  anarchist  and  predatory  Apache. 
This  was  Mile.  Javal's  idea,  and  has  solved  a  problem 
for  many  an  anxious  officer. 


62  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

She  said  to  me  with  a  shrug:  "My  brother  and  I 
are  now  run  by  our  servants.  I  have  quite  lost  con- 
trol. Our  home  is  like  a  bachelor  apartment.  After 
the  war  is  over  I  must  turn  them  all  out  and  get  a 
new  staff." 

And  this  is  but  one  of  the  minor  problems  for  men 
and  women  the  Great  War  has  bred. 


VII 

Magic  lanterns  and  cinemas  are  also  among  the 
presents  sent  to  the  eclope  depots  in  the  War  Zone; 
some  of  which,  by  the  way,  are  charmingly  situated. 
I  visited  one  just  outside  of  a  town  which  by  a  miracle 
had  escaped  the  attention  of  the  enemy  during  the 
retreat  after  the  Battle  of  the  Marne.  The  buildings 
of  the  depot  have  been  built  in  the  open  fields  but 
heavily  ambushed  by  fine  old  trees.  Near  by  is  a  river 
picturesquely  winding  and  darkly  shaded.  Here  I  saw 
a  number  of  eclopes  fishing  as  calmly  as  if  the  roar 
of  the  guns  that  came  down  the  wind  from  Verdun 
were  but  the  precursor  of  an  evening  storm. 

In  the  large  refectory  men  were  writing  home; 
reading  not  only  books  but  the  daily  and  weekly  news- 
papers with  which  the  depots  are  generously  supplied 
by  the  editors  of  France.  Others  were  exercising  in 
a  gymnasium  or  playing  games  with  that  childish  ab- 
sorption that  seems  to  be  as  natural  to  a  soldier  at  the 
Front  when  off  duty  as  the  desire  for  a  bath  or  a 
limbering  of  the  muscles  when  he  leaves  the  trenches. 


MLLE.  JAVAL  AND  THE  ECLOPES      63 

Another  of  Mile.  Javal's  ideas  was  to  send  to  the 
War  Zone  automobiles  completely  equipped  with  a 
dental  apparatus  in  charge  of  a  competent  dentist. 
These  automobiles  travel  from  depot  to  depot  and  even 
give  their  services  to  hospitals  where  there  are  no 
dental  installations. 

Other  automobiles  have  a  surgeon  and  the  equip- 
ment for  immediate  facial  operations;  and  there  are 
migratory  pedicures,  masseurs,  and  barbers.  So 
heavy  has  been  the  subscription,  so  persistent  and  in- 
telligent the  work  of  all  connected  with  this  great 
•ceuvre,  so  increasingly  fertile  the  amazing  brain  of 
Mile.  Javal,  that  practically  nothing  is  now  wanted  to 
make  these  Depots  d'ficlopes  perfect  instruments  for 
saving  men  for  the  army  by  the  hundred  thousand.  1 
once  heard  the  estimate  of  the  army's  indebtedness 
placed  as  high  as  a  million  and  a  half. 

The  work  of  M.  Frederic  Masson  must  not  be  ig- 
nored, and  Madame  Balli  assisted  him  for  a  short 
time,  until  compelled  to  concentrate  on  her  other  work ; 
but  it  is  not  comparable  in  scope  to  that  of  Mile.  Java!. 
Hers  is  unprecedented,  one  of  the  greatest  achieve- 
ments of  France  behind  the  lines,  and  of  any  woman 
at  any  time. 


V 
THE  WOMAN'S  OPPORTUNITY 


MADAME  VfiRONE,  one  of  the  leading  law- 
yers and  feminists  of  Paris,  told  me  that  with- 
out the  help  of  the  women  France  could  not  have  re- 
mained in  the  field  six  months.  This  is  no  doubt  true. 
Probably  it  has  been  true  of  every  war  that  France 
has  ever  waged.  Nor  has  French  history  ever  been 
reluctant  to  admit  its  many  debts  to  the  sex  it  admires, 
without  idealization  perhaps,  but  certainly  in  more 
ways  than  one.  As  far  back  as  the  reign  of  Louis 
XI  memoirs  pay  their  tribute  to  the  value  of  the 
French  woman  both  in  peace  and  in  war.  This  war 
has  been  one  of  the  greatest  incentives  to  women  in 
all  the  belligerent  countries  that  has  so  far  occurred 
in  the  history  of  the  world,  and  the  outcome  is  a 
problem  that  the  men  of  France,  at  least,  are  already 
revolving  in  their  vigilant  brains. 

On  the  other  hand  the  inept  have  just  managed  to 
exist.  Madame  Verone  took  me  one  day  to  a  restau- 
rant on  Montmartre.  It  had  been  one  of  the  largest 
cabarets  of  that  famous  quarter,  and  at  five  or  six 
tables  running  its  entire  length  I  saw  seven  hundred 
men  and  women  eating  a  substantial  dejeuner  of  veal 

64 


WOMAN'S  OPPORTUNITY  65 

swimming  in  spinach,  dry  puree  of  potatoes,  salad, 
apples,  cheese,  and  coffee.  For  this  they  paid  ten 
cents  (fifty  centimes)  each,  the  considerable  deficit 
being  made  up  by  the  ladies  who  had  founded  the 
ceuvre  and  run  it  since  the  beginning  of  the  war. 

Nearly  all  of  these  people  escaping  charity  by  sa 
narrow  a  margin  had  been  second-rate  actors  and 
scene  shifters,  or  artists — of  both  sexes — the  men  be- 
ing either  too  old  or  otherwise  ineligible  for  the  army. 
This  was  their  only  square  meal  during  twenty-four 
hours.  They  made  at  home  such  coffee  as  they  could 
afford,  and  went  without  dinner  more  often  than  not. 
The  daughter  of  the  founder  of  this  very  necessary 
charity,  a  handsome  strongly  built  girl,  told  me  that 
she  had  waited  on  her  table  without  a  day's  rest  for 
eighteen  months. 

I  am  frank  to  say  that  I  could  not  eat  the  veal  and 
spinach,  and  confined  myself  to  the  potatoes  and  bread. 
But  no  doubt  real  hunger  is  a  radical  cure  for  fastidi- 
ousness. 

Later  in  the  day  Madame  Verone  took  me  to  the 
once  famous  Abbaye,  now  a  workroom  for  the  dress- 
ers of  dolls,  a  revived  industry  which  has  given  em- 
ployment to  hundreds  of  women.  Some  of  the  wildest 
revels  of  Paris  had  taken  place  in  the  restaurant  now 
incongruously  lined  with  rows  of  dolls  dressed  in 
every  national  costume  of  Allied  Europe.  They  sat 
sedately  against  the  walls,  Montenegrins,  Serbians, 
Russians,  Italians,  Sicilians,  Roumanians,  Poilus, 
Alsatians,  Tommies,*  a  strange  medley,  correctly  but 
*No  doubt  there  are  now  little  Uncle  Sams. 


66  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

cheaply  dressed.  At  little  tables,  mute  records  of  dis- 
reputable nights,  sat  women  stitching,  and  outside  the 
streets  of  Montmartre  were  as  silent  as  the  grave. 


II 

A  few  days  later  I  was  introduced  to  a  case  of 
panurgy  that  would  have  been  almost  extreme  in  any 
but  a  Frenchwoman. 

Madame  Camille  Lyon  took  me  to  call  on  Madame 
Pertat,  one  of  the  most  successful  doctors  in  Paris. 
I  found  both  her  history  and  her  personality  highly 
interesting,  and  her  experience  no  doubt  will  be  a 
severe  shock  to  many  Americans  who  flatter  them- 
selves that  we  alone  of  all  women  possess  the  price- 
less gift  of  driving  initiative. 

Madame  Pertat  was  born  in  a  provincial  town,  of 
a  good  family,  and  received  the  usual  education  with 
all  the  little  accomplishments  that  were  thought  neces- 
sary for  a  young  girl  of  the  comfortable  bourgeoisie. 
She  confessed  to  me  naively  that  she  had  coquetted  a 
good  deal.  As  her  brother  was  a  doctor  and  brought 
his  friends  to  the  house  it  was  natural  that  she  should 
marry  into  the  same  profession ;  and  as  she  continued 
to  meet  many  doctors  and  was  a  young  woman  of 
much  mental  curiosity  and  a  keen  intelligence  it  was 
also  natural  that  she  should  grow  more  and  more 
deeply  interested  in  the  science  of  medicine  and  take 
part  in  the  learned  discussions  at  her  table. 

One  day  her  husband,  after  a  warm  argument  with 


WOMAN'S  OPPORTUNITY  67 

her  on  the  new  treatment  of  an  old  disease,  asked  her 
why  she  did  not  study  medicine.  She  had  ample  leis- 
ure, no  children,  and,  he  added  gallantly,  a  mind  to  do 
it  justice. 

The  suggestion  horrified  her,  as  it  would  have  hor- 
rified her  large  family  connection  and  circle  of  friends 
in  that  provincial  town  where  standards  are  as  slowly 
undermined  as  the  cliffs  of  France  by  the  action  of  the 
sea. 

Shortly  afterward  they  moved  to  Paris,  where  her 
husband,  being  a  man  of  first-rate  ability  and  many 
friends,  soon  built  up  a  lucrative  practice. 

Being  childless,  full  of  life,  and  fond  of  variety, 
they  spent  far  more  money  than  was  common  to  their 
class,  saving  practically  nothing.  They  had  a  hand- 
some apartment  with  the  usual  number  of  servants; 
Madame  Pertat's  life  was  made  up  of  a  round  of 
dressmakers,  bridge,  calls  during  the  daytime,  and 
companioning  her  husband  at  night  to  any  one  of  the 
more  brilliant  restaurants  where  there  was  dancing. 
Sometimes  they  dined  early  and  went  to  the  opera  or 
the  play. 

Suddenly  the  really  serious  mind  of  this  woman 
revolted.  She  told  me  that  she  said  to  her  husband : 
"This  is  abominable.  I  cannot  stand  this  life.  I  shall 
study  medicine,  which,  after  all,  is  the  only  thing  that 
really  interests  me." 

She  immediately  entered  upon  the  ten  years'  course, 
which  included  four  years  as  an  interne.  France  has 
now  so  far  progressed  that  she  talks  of  including  the 


68  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

degree  of  baccalaureate  in  the  regular  school  course  of 
women,  lest  they  should  wish  to  study  for  a  profession 
later;  but  at  that  time  Madame  Pertat's  course  in 
medicine  was  long  drawn  out,  owing  to  the  necessity 
of  reading  for  this  degree. 

She  was  also  obliged  to  interrupt  her  triumphal 
progress  in  order  to  bring  her  first  and  only  child 
into  the  world;  but  finally  graduated  with  the  highest 
honors,  being  one  of  the  few  women  of  France  who 
have  received  the  diploma  to  practice. 

To  practice,  however,  was  the  least  of  her  inten- 
tions, now  that  she  had  a  child  to  occupy  her  mind 
and  time.  Then,  abruptly,  peace  ended  and  war  came. 
Men  disappeared  from  their  usual  haunts  like  mist. 
It  was  as  if  the  towns  turned  over  and  emptied  their 
men  on  to  the  ancient  battlefields,  where,  generation 
after  generation,  war  rages  on  the  same  historic  spots 
but  re-naming  its  battles  for  the  benefit  of  chronicler 
and  student. 

M.  le  Docteur  Pertat  was  mobilized  with  the  rest. 
Madame's  bank  account  was  very  slim.  Then  once 
more  she  proved  that  she  was  a  woman  of  energy 
and  decision.  Without  any  formalities  she  stepped 
into  her  husband's  practice  as  a  matter  of  course.  On 
the  second  day  of  the  war  she  ordered  out  his  run- 
about and  called  on  every  patient  on  his  immediate 
list,  except  those  that  would  expect  attention  in  his 
office  during  the  usual  hours  of  consultation. 

Her  success  was  immediate.  She  lost  none  of  her 
husband's  patients  and  gained  many  more,  for  every 


WOMAN'S  OPPORTUNITY  69 

doctor  of  military  age  had  been  called  out.  Of  course 
her  record  in  the  hospitals  was  well  known,  not  only 
to  the  profession  but  to  many  of  Dr.  Pertat's  patients. 
Her  income,  in  spite  of  the  war,  is  larger  than  it 
ever  was  before. 

She  told  me  that  when  the  war  was  over  she  should 
resign  in  her  husband's  favor  as  far  as  her  general 
practice  was  concerned,  but  should  have  a  private 
practice  of  her  own,  specializing  in  skin  diseases  and 
facial  blemishes.  She  could  never  be  idle  again,  and 
if  it  had  not  been  for  the  brooding  shadow  of  war  and 
her  constant  anxiety  for  her  husband,  she  should  look 
back  upon  those  two  years  of  hard  medical  practice  and 
usefulness  as  the  most  satisfactory  of  her  life. 

She  is  still  a  young  woman,  with  vivid  yellow  hair 
elaborately  dressed,  and  it  was  evident  that  she  had 
none  of  the  classic  professional  woman's  scorn  of 
raiment.  Her  apartment  is  full  of  old  carved  furni- 
ture and  objets  d'art,  for  she  had  always  been  a  col- 
lector. Her  most  conspicuous  treasure  is  a  rare  and 
valuable  Russian  censer  of  chased  silver.  This  was  on 
the  Germans'  list  of  valuables  when  they  were  sure 
of  entering  Paris  in  September,  1914.  Through  their 
spies  they  knew  the  location  of  every  work  of  art  in 
the  most  artistic  city  in  the  world. 

Madame  Pertat  is  one  of  the  twenty-five  women 
doctors  in  Paris.  All  are  flourishing.  When  the  doc- 
tors return  for  leave  of  absence  etiquette  forbids 
them  to  visit  their  old  patients  while  their  brothers  are 
still  at  the  Front ;  and  the  same  rule  applies  to  doctors 


70  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

who  are  stationed  in  Paris  but  are  in  Government 
service.  The  women  are  having  a  magnificent  inning, 
and  whether  they  will  be  as  magnanimous  as  Madame 
Pertat  and  take  a  back  seat  when  the  men  return 
remains  to  be  seen,  ^he  point  is,  however,  that  they 
are  but  another  example  of  the  advantage  of  technical 
training  combined  with  courage  and  energy. 


in 

On  the  other  hand,  I  heard  of  many  women  who, 
thrown  suddenly  out  of  work,  or  upon  their  own 
resources,  developed  their  little  accomplishments  and 
earned  a  bare  living.  One  daughter  of  an  avocat,  who 
had  just  managed  to  keep  and  educate  his  large  fam- 
ily and  was  promptly  mobilized,  left  the  Beaux  Arts 
where  she  had  studied  for  several  years,  and  after 
some  floundering  turned  her  knowledge  of  designing 
to  the  practical  art  of  dress.  She  goes  from  house 
to  house  designing  and  cutting  out  gowns  for  women 
no  longer  able  to  afford  dressmakers  but  still  anxious 
to  please.  She  hopes  in  time  to  be  employed  in  one 
of  the  great  dressmakers'  establishments,  having  re- 
nounced all  thought  of  being  an  artist  in  a  more 
grandiose  sense.  Meanwhile  she  keeps  the  family 
from  starving  while  her  mother  and  sisters  do  the 
housework.  Her  brothers  are  in  the  military  colleges 
and  will  be  called  out  in  due  course  if  the  war  con- 
tinues long  enough  to  absorb  all  the  youth  of  France. 

Mile.  E.,  the  woman  who  told  me  her  story,  was 


WOMAN'S  OPPORTUNITY  71 

suffering  from  the  effects  of  the  war  herself.  I 
climbed  five  flights  to  talk  to  her,  and  found  her  in  a 
pleasant  little  apartment  looking  out  over  the  roofs 
and  trees  of  Passy.  Formerly  she  had  taken  a  certain 
number  of  American  girls  to  board  and  finish  off  in 
the  politest  tongue  in  Europe.  The  few  American 
girls  in  Paris  to-day  (barring  the  anachronisms  that 
paint  and  plume  for  the  Ritz  Hotel)  are  working  with 
the  American  Ambulance,  the  American  Fund  for 
French  Wounded,  or  Le  Bien-fitre  du  Blesse,  and  she 
sits  in  her  high  flat  alone. 

But  she  too  has  adapted  herself,  and  kept  her  little 
home.  She  illuminates  for  a  Bible  house,  and  paints 
exquisite  Christmas  and  Easter  cards.  Of  course  she 
had  saved  something,  for  she  was  the  frugal  type  and 
restaurants  and  the  cabaret  could  have  no  call  for 
her. 

But  alas!  said  she,  there  were  the  taxes,  and  ever 
more  taxes.  And  who  could  say  how  long  the  war 
would  last?  I  cheerfully  suggested  that  we  might 
have  entered  upon  one  of  those  war  cycles  so  familiar 
in  history  and  that  the  world  might  not  know  peace 
again  for  thirty  years.  Although  the  French  are  very 
optimistic  about  the  duration  of  this  war  (and,  no 
doubt  prompted  by  hope,  I  am  myself)  she  agreed 
with  me,  and  reiterated  that  one  must  not  relax  effort 
for  a  moment. 

Of  course  she  has  her  filleul  (godson)  at  the  Front, 
a  poor  poilu  who  has  no  family ;  and  when  he  goes  out 
the  captain  finds  her  another.  She  knits  him  socks 


72  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

and  vests,  and  sends  him  such  little  luxuries  as  he  asks 
for,  always  tobacco,  and  often  chocolate. 

The  French  bourgeoisie — or  French  women  of  any 
<:lass  for  that  matter — do  not  take  kindly  to  clubs. 
For  this  reason  their  organizations  limped  somewhat 
in  the  earlier  days  and  only  their  natural  financial 
genius,  combined  with  the  national  practice  of  econ- 
omy, enabled  them  to  develop  that  orderly  team  work 
.so  natural  to  the  Englishwoman.  Mile.  E.  told  me 
"with  a  wry  face  that  she  detested  the  new  clubs  formed 
for  knitting  and  sewing  and  rolling  bandages.  "It  is 
only  old  maids  like  myself,"  she  added,  "who  go 
regularly.  After  marriage  French  women  hate  to 
leave  their  homes.  Of  course  they  go  daily  to  the 
ouvroirs,  where  they  have  their  imperative  duties,  but 
they  don't  like  it.  I  shall  belong  to  no  club  when  the 
war  is  over  and  my  American  girls  have  returned  to 
Paris." 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON  is  another  young 
Frenchwoman  who  led  not  only  a  life  of  ease 
and  careless  happiness  up  to  the  Great  War,  but  also, 
and  from  childhood,  an  uncommonly  interesting  one, 
owing  to  the  kind  fate  that  made  her  the  daughter  of 
the  famous  Joseph  Reinach. 

M.  Reinach,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  state  even 
for  the  benefit  of  American  readers,  is  one  of  the  fore- 
most "Intellectuals"  of  France.  Born  to  great  wealth, 
he  determined  in  his  early  youth  to  live  a  life  of  active 
usefulness,  and  began  his  career  as  private  secretary 
to  Gambetta.  His  life  of  that  remarkable  Gascon  is 
the  standard  work.  He  was  conspicuously  instru- 
mental in  securing  justice  for  Dreyfus,  championing 
him  in  a  fashion  that  would  have  wrecked  the  public 
career  of  a  man  less  endowed  with  courage  and  per- 
sonality: twin  gifts  that  have  carried  him  through  the 
stormy  seas  of  public  life  in  France. 

His  history  of  the  Dreyfus  case  in  seven  volumes 
is  accepted  as  an  authoritative  however  partisan  re- 
port of  one  of  the  momentous  crises  in  the  French 

73 


74  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

Republic.  He  also  has  written  on  alcoholism  and 
election  reforms,  and  he  has  been  for  many  years 
a  Member  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  standing  for 
democracy  and  humanitarianism. 

On  a  memorable  night  in  Paris,  in  June,  1916,  it 
was  my  good  fortune  to  sit  next  to  Monsieur  Reinach 
at  a  dinner  given  by  Mr.  Whitney  Warren  to  the 
American  newspaper  men  in  Paris,  an  equal  number 
of  French  journalists,  and  several  "Intellectuals" 
more  or  less  connected  with  the  press.  The  scene  was 
the  private  banquet  room  of  the  Hotel  de  Crillon,  a 
fine  old  palace  on  the  Place  de  la  Concorde;  and  in 
that  ornate  red  and  gold  room  where  we  dined  so 
cheerfully,  grim  despots  had  crowded  not  so  many 
years  before  to  watch  from  its  long  windows  the 
executions  of  Louis  XVI  and  Marie  Antoinette. 

I  was  the  only  woman,  a  whim  of  Mr.  Warren's, 
and  possibly  that  is  the  reason  I  found  this  dinner  in 
the  historic  chamber  above  a  dark  and  quiet  Paris 
the  most  interesting  I  ever  attended !  Perhaps  it  was 
because  I  sat  at  the  head  of  the  room  between  Mon- 
sieur Reinach  and  Monsieur  Hanotaux;  perhaps 
merely  because  of  the  evening's  climax. 

Of  course  we  talked  of  nothing  but  the  war  (one  is 
bored  to  death  in  Paris  if  any  other  subject  comes  up). 
Only  one  speech  was  made,  an  impassioned  torrent  of 
gratitude  by  Monsieur  Hanotaux  directed  at  our  dis- 
tinguished host,  an  equally  impassioned  "Friend  of 
France."  I  forget  just  when  it  was  that  a  rumor 
began  to  run  around  the  room  and  electrify  the  atmos- 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON  75 

phere  that  a  great  naval  engagement  had  taken  place 
in  the  North  Sea;  but  it  was  just  after  coffee  was 
served  that  a  boy  from  the  office  of  Le  Figaro  entered 
with  a  proof-sheet  for  Monsieur  Reinach  to  correct — 
he  contributes  a  daily  column  signed  "Polybe." 
Whether  the  messenger  brought  a  note  from  the  editor 
or  merely  whispered  his  information,  again  I  do  not 
know,  but  it  was  immediately  after  that  Monsieur 
Reinach  told  us  that  news  had  come  through  Switzer- 
land of  a  great  sea  fight  in  which  the  Germans  had 
lost  eight  battleships. 

"And  as  the  news  comes  from  Germany,"  he  re- 
marked dryly,  "and  as  the  Germans  admit  having  lost 
eight  ships  we  may  safely  assume  that  they  have  lost 
sixteen."  And  so  it  proved. 

The  following  day  in  Paris  was  the  gloomiest  I 
have  ever  experienced  in  any  city,  and  was  no  doubt 
one  of  the  gloomiest  in  history.  Not  a  word  had  come 
from  England.  Germany  had  claimed  uncontradicted 
an  overwhelming  victory,  with  the  pride  of  Britain 
either  at  the  bottom  of  the  North  Sea  or  hiding  like 
Churchill's  rats  in  any  hole  that  would  shelter  them 
from  further  vengeance.  People,  both  French  and 
American,  who  had  so  long  been  waiting  for  the 
Somme  drive  to  commence  that  they  had  almost  re- 
linquished hope  went  about  shaking  their  heads  and 
muttering:  "Won't  the  British  even  fight  on  the 
sea?" 

I  felt  suicidal.  Presupposing  the  continued  omni- 
potence of  the  British  Navy,  the  Battle  of  the  Marne 


76  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

had  settled  the  fate  of  Germany,  but  if  that  Navy  had 
proved  another  illusion  the  bottom  had  fallen  out  of 
the  world.  Not  only  would  Europe  be  done  for,  but 
the  United  States  of  America  might  as  well  prepare  to 
black  the  boots  of  Germany. 

When  this  war  is  over  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  all  the 
censors  will  be  taken  out  and  hanged.  In  view  of  the 
magnificent  account  of  itself  which  Kitchener's  Army 
has  given  since  that  miserable  day,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  fashion  in  which  the  British  Navy  lived  up  to  its 
best  traditions  in  that  Battle  of  Jutland,  it  seems  noth- 
ing short  of  criminal  that  the  English  censor  should 
have  permitted  the  world  to  hold  Great  Britain  in  con- 
tempt for  twenty-four  hours  and  sink  poor  France  in 
the  slough  of  despond.  However,  he  is  used  to  abuse, 
and  presumably  does  not  mind  it. 

On  the  following  day  he  condescended  to  release 
the  truth.  We  all  breathed  again,  and  I  kept  one  of 
my  interesting  engagements  with  Madame  Pierre 
Goujon. 

II 

This  beautiful  young  woman's  husband  was  killed 
during  the  first  month  of  the  war.  Her  brother  was 
reported  missing  at  about  the  same  time,  and  although 
his  wife  has  refused  to  go  into  mourning  there  is 
little  hope  that  he  will  ever  be  seen  alive  again  or  that 
his  body  will  be  found.  There  was  no  room  for  doubt 
in  the  case  of  Pierre  Goujon. 

Perhaps  if  the  young  officer  had  died  in  the  natural 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON  77 

course  of  events  his  widow  would  have  been  over- 
whelmed by  her  loss,  although  it  is  difficult  to  imag- 
ine Madame  Goujon  a  useless  member  of  society  at 
any  time.  Her  brilliant  black  eyes  and  her  eager 
nervous  little  face  connote  a  mind  as  alert  as  Monsieur 
Reinach's.  As  it  was,  she  closed  her  own  home — she 
has  no  children — returned  to  the  great  hotel  of  her 
father  in  the  Pare  Monceau,  and  plunged  into  work. 

It  is  doubtful  if  at  any  period  of  the  world's  history 
men  have  failed  to  accept  (or  demand)  the  services 
of  women  in  time  of  war,  and  this  is  particularly  true 
of  France,  where  women  have  always  counted  as  units 
more  than  in  any  European  state.  Whether  men  have 
heretofore  accepted  these  invaluable  services  with 
gratitude  or  as  a  matter-of-course  is  by  the  way. 
Never  before  in  the  world's  history  have  fighting  na- 
tions availed  themselves  of  woman's  co-operation  in 
as  wholesale  a  fashion  as  now;  and  perhaps  it  is  the 
women  who  feel  the  gratitude. 

Of  course  the  first  duty  of  every  Frenchwoman  in 
those  distracted  days  of  August,  1914,  was,  as  I  have 
mentioned  before,  to  feed  the  poor  women  so  sud- 
denly thrown  out  of  work  or  left  penniless  with  large 
families  of  children.  Then  came  the  refugees  pour- 
ing down  from  Belgium  and  the  invaded  districts  of 
France;  and  these  had  to  be  clothed  as  well  as  fed. 

In  common  with  other  ladies  of  Paris,  both  French 
and  American,  Madame  Goujon  established  ouvroirs 
after  the  retreat  of  the  Germans,  in  order  to  give  use- 
ful occupation  to  as  many  of  the  destitute  women  as 


78  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

possible.  But  when  these  were  in  running  order  she 
joined  the  Baroness  Lejeune  (born  a  Princess  Murat 
and  therefore  of  Napoleon's  blood)  in  forming  an 
organization  both  permanent  and  on  the  grand  scale. 

The  Baroness  Lejeune  also  had  lost  her  husband 
early  in  the  war.  He  had  been  detached  from  his 
regiment  and  sent  to  the  Belgian  front  to  act  as  body- 
guard to  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Receiving  by  a  special 
messenger  a  letter  from  his  wife,  to  whom  he  had 
been  married  but  a  few  months,  he  separated  himself 
from  the  group  surrounding  the  English  Prince  and 
walked  off  some  distance  alone  to  read  it.  Here  a 
bomb  from  a  taube  intended  for  the  Prince  hit  and 
killed  him  instantly. 

Being  widows  themselves  it  was  natural  they  should 
concentrate  their  minds  on  some  organization  that 
would  be  of  service  to  other  widows,  poor  women 
without  the  alleviations  of  wealth  and  social  eminence, 
many  of  them  a  prey  to  black  despair.  Calling  in 
other  young  widows  of  their  own  circle  to  help  (the 
number  was  already  appalling),  they  went  about  their 
task  in  a  business-like  way,  opening  offices  in  the  Rue 
Vizelly,  which  were  subsequently  moved  to  20  Rue 
Madrid. 

When  I  saw  these  headquarters  in  May,  1916,  the 
ceuvre  was  a  year  old  and  in  running  order.  In  one 
room  were  the  high  chests  of  narrow  drawers  one  sees 
in  offices  and  public  libraries.  These  were  for  card 
indexes  and  each  drawer  contained  the  dossiers  of 
widows  who  had  applied  for  assistance  or  had  been 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON          79 

discovered  suffering  in  lonely  pride  by  a  member  of 
the  committee.  Each  dossier  included  a  methodical 
account  of  the  age  and  condition  of  the  applicant,  of 
the  number  of  her  children,  and  the  proof  that  her 
husband  was  either  dead  or  "missing."  Also,  her  own 
statement  of  the  manner  in  which  she  might,  if  as- 
sisted, support  herself. 

Branches  of  this  great  work — Association  d'Aide 
aux  Veuves  Militaires  de  la  Grande  Guerre — have 
been  established  in  every  department  of  France;  there 
is  even  one  in  Lille.  The  Central  Committee  takes 
care  of  Paris  and  environs,  the  number  of  widows 
cared  for  by  them  at  that  time  being  two  thousand. 
No  doubt  the  number  has  doubled  since. 

In  each  of  the  rooms  I  visited  a  young  widow  sat 
before  a  table,  and  I  wondered  then,  as  I  wondered 
many  times,  if  all  the  young  French  widows  really 
were  beautiful  or  only  created  the  complete  illusion 
in  that  close  black-hung  toque  with  its  band  of  white 
crepe  just  above  the  eyebrows  and  another  from  ear 
to  ear  beneath  the  chin.  When  the  eyes  are  dark,  the 
eyebrows  heavily  marked,  no  hair  visible,  and  the  pro- 
file regular,  the  effect  is  one  of  poignant  almost  sen- 
sational beauty.  Madame  Goujon  looks  like  a  young 
abbess. 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  cynical  but  it  occurred  to  me 
that  few  of  these  young  widows  failed  to  be  consoled 
when  they  stood  before  their  mirrors  arrayed  for  pub- 
lic view,  however  empty  their  hearts.  Before  I  had 
left  Paris  I  had  concluded  that  it  was  the  mothers  who 


8o  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

were  to  be  pitied  in  this  accursed  war.  Life  is  long 
and  the  future  holds  many  mysteries  for  handsome 
young  widows.  Nevertheless  the  higher  happiness  is 
sometimes  found  in  living  with  a  sacred  memory  and 
I  have  an  idea  that  one  or  two  of  these  young  widows 
I  met  will  be  faithful  to  their  dead. 

Smooth  as  this  ceuvre  appeared  on  the  surface  it 
had  not  been  easy  to  establish  and  every  day  brought 
its  frictions  and  obstacles.  The  French  temperament 
is  perhaps  the  most  difficult  in  the  world  to  deal  with, 
even  by  the  French  themselves.  Our  boasted  individ- 
uality is  merely  in  the  primal  stage  compared  with 
the  finished  production  in  France.  Even  the  children 
are  far  more  complex  and  intractable  than  ours.  They 
have  definite  opinions  on  the  subject  of  life,  charac- 
ter, and  the  disposition  of  themselves  at  the  age  of  six. 

Madame  Goujon  told  me  that  every  widow  in  need 
of  help,  no  matter  how  tormented  or  however  worthy, 
had  to  be  approached  with  far  more  tact  than  possible 
donors,  and  her  idiosyncrasies  studied  and  accepted 
before  anything  could  be  done  with  her,  much  less 
for  her. 

Moreover  there  was  the  great  problem  of  the  women 
who  would  not  work.  These  were  either  of  the  indus- 
trial class,  or  of  that  petite  bourgeoisie  whose  hus- 
bands, called  to  the  colors,  had  been  small  clerks  and 
had  made  just  enough  to  keep  their  usually  childless 
wives  in  a  certain  smug  comfort. 

These  women,  whose  economical  parents  had  mar- 
ried them  into  their  own  class,  or  possibly  boosted 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON  81 

them  one  step  higher,  with  the  aid  of  the  indispensable 
dot,  never  had  done  any  work  to  speak  of,  and  many 
of  them  manifested  the  strongest  possible  aversion 
from  working,  even  under  the  spur  of  necessity.  They 
had  one-franc-twenty-five  a  day  from  the  Government 
and  much  casual  help  during  the  first  year  of  the  war, 
when  money  was  still  abundant,  from  charitable  mem- 
bers of  the  noblesse  or  the  haute  bourgeoisie.  As 
their  dot  had  been  carefully  invested  in  rentes  (bonds) 
if  it  continued  to  yield  any  income  at  all  this  was 
promptly  swallowed  up  by  taxes. 

As  for  the  women  of  the  industrial  class,  they  not 
only  received  one-franc-twenty-five  a  day  but,  if  liv- 
ing in  Paris,  seventy-five  centimes  for  each  child — 
fifty  if  living  in  the  provinces;  and  families  in  the 
lower  classes  of  France  are  among  the  largest  in  the 
world.  Five,  ten,  fifteen  children;  I  heard  these  fig- 
ures mentioned  daily,  and,  on  one  or  two  occasions, 
nineteen.  Mrs.  Morton  Mitchell  of  San  Francisco, 
who  lives  in  Paris  in  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Bologne, 
discovered  after  the  war  broke  out  that  the  street- 
sweeper  to  whom  she  had  often  given  largesse  left 
behind  him  when  called  to  the  Front  something  like 
seventeen  dependents.  Indeed,  they  lost  no  time  ac- 
quainting her  with  the  fact;  they  called  on  her  in  a 
body,  and  she  has  maintained  them  ever  since. 

While  it  was  by  no  means  possible  in  the  case  of 
the  more  moderate  families  to  keep  them  in  real  com- 
fort on  the  allocation,  the  women,  many  of  them, 
had  a  pronounced  distaste  for  work  outside  of  their 


82  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

little  homes,  as  they  had  their  liberty  for  the  first  time 
in  their  drab  and  overworked  lives  and  proposed  to 
enjoy  it  No  man  to  dole  them  out  just  enough  to 
keep  a  roof  over  their  heads  and  for  bread  and  stew, 
while  he  spent  the  rest  on  tobacco,  at  the  wine-shops, 
or  for  dues  to  the  Socialist  or  Syndicalist  Club.  Every 
centime  that  came  in  now  was  theirs  to  administer  as 
they  pleased. 

The  Mayoress  of  a  small  town  near  Paris  told  me 
that  she  had  heard  these  women  say  more  than  once 
they  didn't  care  how  long  the  war  lasted;  owing  to 
the  prevalence  of  the  alcoholism  octopus  which  has 
fastened  itself  on  France  of  late  years  the  men  often 
beat  their  wives  as  brutally  as  the  low-class  English- 
men, and  this  vice  added  to  the  miserliness  of  their 
race  made  their  sojourn  in  the  trenches  a  welcome  re- 
lief. Of  course  these  were  the  exceptions,  for  the 
Frenchman  in  the  main  is  devoted  to  his  family,  but 
there  were  enough  of  them  to  emerge  into  a  sudden 
prominence  after  the  outbreak  of  the  war  when  char- 
itable women  were  leaving  no  stone  unturned  to  re- 
lieve possible  distress. 

There  is  a  story  of  one  man  with  thirteen  children 
who  was  called  to  the  colors  on  August  second,  and 
whose  wife  received  allocation  amounting  to  more 
than  her  husband's  former  earnings.  It  was  some 
time  after  the  war  began  that  the  rule  was  made  ex- 
empting from  service  every  man  with  more  than  six 
children.  When  it  did  go  into  effect  the  fathers  of 
large  flocks  hastened  home,  anticipating  a  joyful  re- 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON          83 

union.  But  the  wife  of  this  man,  at  least,  received 
him  with  dismay  and  ordered  him  to  enlist — within 
the  hour. 

"Don't  you  realize,"  she  demanded,  "that  we  never 
were  so  well  off  before?  We  can  save  for  the  first 
time  in  our  lives  and  I  can  get  a  good  job  that  would 
not  be  given  me  if  you  were  here.  Go  where  you 
belong.  Every  man's  place  is  in  the  trenches." 

There  is  not  much  romance  about  a  marriage  of 
that  class,  nor  is  there  much  romance  left  in  the  har- 
ried brain  of  any  mother  of  thirteen. 

Hi 

Exasperating  as  those  women  were  who  preferred 
to  live  with  their  children  on  the  insufficient  allocation, 
it  is  impossible  not  to  feel  a  certain  sympathy  for 
them.  In  all  their  lives  they  had  known  nothing  but 
grinding  work;  liberty  is  the  most  precious  thing  in 
the  world  and  when  tasted  for  the  first  time  after 
years  of  sordid  oppression  it  goes  to  the  head.  More- 
over, the  Frenchwoman  has  the  most  extraordinary 
faculty  for  "managing."  The  poorest  in  Paris  would 
draw  their  skirts  away  from  the  slatterns  and  their 
dirty  offspring  in  our  own  tenement  districts. 

One  day  I  went  with  Madame  Paul  Dupuy  over  to 
what  she  assured  me  was  one  of  the  poorest  districts 
of  Paris.  Our  visit  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  war. 
She  belonged  to  a  charitable  organization  which  for 
years  had  paid  weekly  visits  to  the  different  parishes 


84  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

of  the  capital  and  weighed  a  certain  number  of  babies. 
The  mothers  that  brought  their  howling  offspring 
(who  abominated  the  whole  performance)  were  given 
money  according  to  their  needs — vouched  for  by  the 
priest  of  the  district — and  if  the  babies  showed  a  fall- 
ing off  in  weight  they  were  sent  to  one  of  the  doctors 
retained  by  the  society. 

The  little  stone  house  (situated,  by  the  way,  in  an 
old  garden  of  a  hunting-lodge  which  is  said  to  have 
been  the  rendezvous  de  chasse  of  Madame  du  Barry), 
where  Madame  Dupuy  worked,  with  an  apron 
covering  her  gown  and  her  sleeves  rolled  up,  was 
like  an  ice-box,  and  the  naked  babies  when  laid 
on  the  scales  shrieked  like  demons.  One  male  child,  I 
remember,  sat  up  perfectly  straight  and  bellowed  his 
protest  with  an  insistent  fury  and  a  snorting  disdain 
at  all  attempts  to  placate  him  that  betokened  the  true 
son  of  France  and  a  lusty  long-distance  recruit  for 
the  army.  All  the  children,  in  fact,  although  their 
mothers  were  unmistakably  poor,  looked  remarkably 
plump  and  healthy. 

After  a  time,  having  no  desire  to  contract  perito- 
nitis, I  left  the  little  house  and  went  out  and  sat  in 
the  car.  There  I  watched  for  nearly  an  hour  the  life 
of  what  we  would  call  a  slum.  The  hour  was  about 
four  in  the  afternoon,  when  even  the  poor  have  a  little 
leisure.  The  street  was  filled  with  women  sauntering 
up  and  down,  gossiping,  and  followed  by  their  young. 
These  women  and  children  may  have  had  on  no  un- 
derclothes :  their  secrets  were  not  revealed  to  me ;  but 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON  8$ 

their  outer  garments  were  decent.  The  children  had  a 
scrubbed  look  and  their  hair  was  confined  in  tight  pig- 
tails. The  women  looked  stout  and  comfortable. 

They  may  be  as  clean  to-day  but  I  doubt  if  they  are 
as  stout  and  as  placid  of  expression.  The  winter  was 
long  and  bitter  and  coal  and  food  scarce,  scarcer,  and 
more  scarce. 

IV 

The  two  classes  of  women  with  whom  Madame 
Goujon  and  her  friends  have  most  difficulty  are  in 
the  minority  and  merely  serve  as  the  shadows  in  the 
great  canvas  crowded  with  heroic  figures  of  French 
women  of  all  classes  who  are  working  to  the  limit  of 
their  strength  for  their  country  or  their  families. 
They  may  be  difficult  to  manage  and  they  may  insist 
upon  working  at  what  suits  their  taste,  but  they  do 
work  and  work  hard;  which  after  all  is  the  point. 
Madame  Goujon  took  me  through  several  of  the  ouv- 
roirs  which  her  society  had  founded  to  teach  the  poor 
widows — whose  pension  is  far  inferior  to  the  often 
brief  allocation — a  number  of  new  occupations  under 
competent  teachers. 

Certainly  these  young  benefactors  had  exercised  all 
their  ingenuity.  Some  of  the  women,  of  course,  had 
been  fit  for  nothing  but  manual  labor,  and  these  they 
had  placed  as  scrub-women  in  hospitals  or  as  servants 
in  hotels  or  families.  But  in  the  case  of  the  more  in- 
telligent or  deft  of  finger  no  pains  were  being  spared 
to  fit  them  to  take  a  good  position,  or,  as  the  French 


86  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

would  say,  "situation,"  in  the  future  life  of  the  Re- 
public. 

In  a  series  of  rooms  lent  to  the  society  by  one  of 
the  great  dressmakers,  I  saw  keen-looking  women  of 
all  ages  learning  to  retouch  photographs,  to  wind 
bobbins  by  electricity,  to  dress  hair  and  fashion  wigs, 
to  engrave  music  scores,  articulate  artificial  limbs, 
make  artificial  flowers,  braces  for  wounded  arms  and 
legs,  and  artificial  teeth!  Others  are  taught  nursing, 
bookkeeping,  stenography,  dentistry. 

One  of  Madame  Goujon's  most  picturesque  revivals 
is  the  dressing  of  dolls.  Before  the  Franco-Prus- 
sian war  this  great  industry  belonged  to  France.  Ger- 
many took  it  away  from  France  while  she  was  pros- 
trate, monopolizing  the  doll  trade  of  the  world,  and  the 
industry  almost  ceased  at  its  ancient  focus.  Madame 
Goujon  was  one  of  the  first  to  see  the  opportunity 
for  revival  in  France,  and  with  Valentine  Thompson 
and  Madame  Verone,  to  mention  but  two  of  her  rivals, 
was  soon  employing  hundreds  of  women.  A  large 
room  on  the  ground  floor  of  M.  Reinach's  hotel  is 
given  over  as  a  storeroom  for  dolls,  all  irreproachably 
dressed  and  indisputably  French. 

It  will  take  a  year  or  two  of  practice  and  the  co- 
operation of  male  talent  after  the  war  to  bring  the 
French  doll  up  to  the  high  standard  attained  by  the 
Germans  throughout  forty  years  of  plodding  effi- 
ciency. The  prettiest  dolls  I  saw  were  those  arrayed 
in  the  different  national  costumes  of  Europe,  particu- 
larly those  that  still  retain  the  styles  of  musical  com- 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON          87 

edy.  After  those  rank  the  Red  Cross  nurses,  particu- 
larly those  that  wear  the  blue  veil  over  the  white.  And 
I  never  saw  in  real  life  such  superb,  such  imper- 
turbable brides. 


Another  work  in  which  Madame  Goujon  is  inter- 
ested and  which  certainly  is  as  picturesque  is  Le  Bon 
Gite.  The  gardens  of  the  Tuilleries  when  regarded 
from  the  quay  present  an  odd  appearance  these  days. 
One  sees  row  after  row  of  little  huts,  models  of  the 
huts  the  English  Society  of  Friends  have  built  in  the 
devastated  valley  of  the  Marne.  Where  hundreds  of 
families  were  formerly  living  in  damp  cellars  or  in 
the  ruins  of  large  buildings,  wherever  they  could  find  a 
sheltering  wall,  the  children  dying  of  exposure,  there 
are  now  a  great  number  of  these  portable  huts  where 
families  may  be  dry  and  protected  from  the  elements, 
albeit  somewhat  crowded. 

The  object  of  Le  Bon  Gite  is  to  furnish  these  little 
temporary  homes — for  real  houses  cannot  be  built 
until  the  men  come  back  from  the  war — and  these 
models  in  the  Tuilleries  Gardens  show  to  the  visitor 
what  they  can  do  in  the  way  of  furnishing  a  home 
that  will  accommodate  a  woman  and  two  children, 
for  three  hundred  francs  (sixty  dollars). 

It  seems  incredible,  but  I  saw  the  equipment  of 
several  of  these  little  shelters  (which  contain  several 
rooms)  and  I  saw  the  bills.  They  contained  a  bed, 
two  chairs,  a  table,  a  buffet,  a  stove,  kitchen  furnish- 


88  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

ings,  blankets,  linen,  and  crockery.  There  were  even 
window  curtains.  The  railway  authorities  had  re- 
duced freight  rates  for  their  benefit  fifty  per  cent. ;  and 
at  that  time  (July,  1916)  they  had  rescued  the  poor 
of  four  wrecked  villages  from  reeking  cellars  and 
filthy  straw  and  given  some  poor  poilus  a  home  to 
come  to  during  their  six  days'  leave  of  absence  from 
the  Front. 

The  Marquise  de  Ganay  and  the  Comtesse  de  Bryas, 
two  of  the  most  active  members,  are  on  duty  in  the 
offices  of  their  neat  little  exhibition  for  several  hours 
every  day,  and  it  was  becoming  one  of  the  cheerful 
sights  of  Paris. 

There  is  little  left  of  the  Tuilleries  to-day  to  recall 
the  ornate  splendors  of  the  Second  Empire,  when  the 
Empress  Eugenie  held  her  court  there,  and  gave  gar- 
den parties  under  the  oaks  and  the  chestnuts.  There  is 
a  vast  chasm  between  the  pomp  of  courts  and  huts  fur- 
nished for  three  hundred  francs  for  the  miserable 
victims  of  the  war;  but  that  chasm,  to  be  sure,  was 
bridged  by  the  Commune  and  this  war  has  shown 
those  that  have  visited  the  Military  Zone  that  a  palace 
makes  a  no  more  picturesque  ruin  than  a  village. 

VI 

A  more  curious  contrast  was  a  concert  given  one 
afternoon  in  the  Tuilleries  Gardens  for  the  purpose 
of  raising  money  for  one  of  the  war  relief  organiza- 
tions. Madame  Paul  Dupuy  asked  me  if  I  would  help 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON  89 

her  take  two  blind  soldiers  to  listen  to  it.  We  drove 
first  out  to  Reuilly  to  the  Quinze  Vingts,  a  large  estab- 
lishment where  the  Government  has  established  hun- 
dreds of  their  war  blind  (who  are  being  taught  a 
score  of  new  trades),  and  took  the  two  young 
fellows  who  were  passed  out  to  us.  The  youngest 
was  twenty-one,  a  flat- faced  peasant  boy,  whose  eyes 
had  been  destroyed  by  the  explosion  of  a  pistol  close 
to  his  face.  The  older  man,  who  may  have  been 
twenty-six,  had  a  fine,  thin,  dark  face  and  an  expres- 
sion of  fixed  melancholy.  He  had  lost  his  sight  from 
shock.  Both  used  canes  and  when  we  left  the  car  at 
the  entrance  to  the  Tuilleries  we  were  obliged  to  guide 
them. 

The  garden  was  a  strange  assortment  of  fashion- 
able women,  many  of  them  bearing  the  highest  titles 
in  France,  and  poilus  in  their  faded  uniforms,  nearly 
all  maimed — reformes,  mutiles !  The  younger  of  our 
charges  laughed  uproariously,  with  the  other  boys,  at 
the  comic  song,  but  my  melancholy  charge  never 
smiled,  and  later  when, 'under  the  thawing  influence 
of  tea,  he  told  us  his  story,  I  was  not  surprised. 

He  had  been  the  proprietor  before  the  war  of  a 
little  business  in  the  North,  prosperous  and  happy 
in  his  little  family  of  a  wife  and  two  children.  His 
mother  was  dead  but  his  father  and  sister  lived  close 
by.  War  came  and  he  left  for  the  Front  confident 
that  his  wife  would  run  the  business.  It  was  only  a 
few  months  later  that  he  heard  his  wife  had  run 
away  with  another  man,  that  the  shop  was  aban- 


90  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

doned,  and  the  children  had  taken  refuge  with  his 
father. 

Then  came  the  next  blow.  His  sister  died  of  suc- 
cessive shocks  and  his  father  was  paralyzed.  Then 
he  lost  his  sight.  His  children  were  living  anyhow 
with  neighbors  in  the  half  ruined  village,  and  he  was 
learning  to  make  brushes. 

So  much  for  the  man's  tragedy  in  war  time.  It  is 
said  that  as  time  goes  on  there  are  more  of  them. 
On  the  other  hand,  during  the  first  year,  when  the 
men  were  not  allowed  to  go  home,  they  formed  abid- 
ing connections  with  women  in  the  rear  of  the  army, 
and  when  the  six  days'  leave  was  granted  preferred 
to  take  these  ladies  on  a  little  jaunt  than  return  to 
the  old  drab  existence  at  home. 

These  are  what  may  be  called  the  by-products  of 
war,  but  they  may  exercise  a  serious  influence  on  a 
nation's  future.  When  the  hundreds  of  children  born 
in  the  North  of  France,  who  are  half  English,  or  half 
Scotch,  or  half  Irish,  or  half  German,  or  half  Indian, 
or  half  Moroccan,  grow  up  and  begin  to  drift  about 
and  mingle  with  the  general  life  of  the  nation,  the 
result  may  be  that  we  shall  have  been  the  last  genera- 
tion to  see  a  race  that  however  diversified  was  reason- 
ably proud  of  its  purity. 


VII 

MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON    (Continued) 


I  HAD  gone  to  Lyons  to  see  the  war  relief  work  of 
that  flourishing  city  and  Madame  Goujon  went 
South  at  the  same  time  to  visit  her  husband's  people. 
We  agreed  to  meet  in  the  little  town  of  Bourg  la 
Bresse,  known  to  the  casual  tourist  for  its  church 
erected  in  the  sixteenth  century  by  Margaret  of 
Austria  and  famous  for  the  carvings  on  its  tombs. 

Otherwise  it  is  a  picturesque  enlarged  village  with 
a  meandering  stream  that  serves  as  an  excuse  for  fine 
bridges ;  high-walled  gardens,  ancient  trees,  and  many 
quaint  old  buildings. 

Not  that  I  saw  anything  in  detail.  The  Mayor, 
M.  Loiseau,  and  Madame  Goujon  met  me  at  the  sta- 
tion, and  rny  ride  to  the  various  hospitals  must  have 
resembled  the  triumphal  progress  of  chariots  in  an- 
cient Rome.  The  population  leaped  right  and  left, 
the  children  even  scrambling  up  the  walls  as  we  flew 
through  the  narrow  winding  streets.  It  was  apparent 
that  the  limited  population  of  Bourg  did  not  in  the 
least  mind  being  scattered  by  their  Mayor,  for  the 
children  shrieked  with  delight,  and  although  you  see 

91 


92  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

few  smiles  in  the  provinces  of  France  these  days,  and 
far  more  mourning  than  in  Paris,  at  least  we  encoun- 
tered no  frowns. 

The  heroine  of  Bourg  is  Madame  Dugas.  Once 
more  to  repeat  history:  Before  the  war  Madame 
Dugas,  being  a  woman  of  fashion  and  large  wealth, 
lived  the  usual  life  of  her  class.  She  had  a  chateau 
near  Bourg  for  •  the  autumn  months :  hunting  and 
shooting  before  1914  were  as  much  the  fashion  on 
the  large  estates  of  France  as  in  England.  She  had 
a  villa  on  the  Rivera,  a  hotel  in  Paris,  and  a  cot- 
tage at  Dinard.  But  as  soon  as  war  broke  out  all 
these  establishments  were  either  closed  or  placed  at 
the  disposal  of  the  Government.  She  cleaned  out  a 
large  hotel  in  Bourg  and  installed  as  many  beds  as  it 
was  possible  to  buy  at  the  moment.  Then  she  sent 
word  that  she  was  ready  to  accorhmodate  a  certain 
number  of  wounded  and  asked  for  nurses  and 
surgeons. 

The  Government  promptly  took  advantage  of  her 
generous  offer,  and  her  hospital  was  so  quickly  filled 
with  wounded  men  that  she  was  obliged  to  take  over 
and  furnish  another  large  building.  This  soon  over- 
flowing as  well  as  the  military  hospitals  of  the  dis- 
trict, she  looked  about  in  vain  for  another  house  large 
enough  to  make  extensive  installations  worth  while. 

During  all  those  terrible  months  of  the  war,  when 
the  wounded  arrived  in  Bourg  by  every  train,  and 
household  after  household  put  on  its  crepe,  there  was 
one  great  establishment  behind  its  lofty  walls  that 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON          93 

took  no  more  note  of  the  war  than  if  the  newspapers 
that  never  passed  its  iron  gates  were  giving  daily 
extracts  from  ancient  history.  This  was  the  Convent 
de  la  Visitation.  Its  pious  nuns  had  taken  the  vow 
never  to  look  upon  the  face  of  man.  If,  as  they  paced 
under  the  great  oaks  of  their  close,  or  the  stately 
length  of  their  cloisters  telling  their  beads,  or  medi- 
tating on  the  negation  of  earthly  existence  and  the 
perfect  joys  of  the  future,  they  heard  an  echo  of  the 
conflict  that  was  shaking  Europe,  it  was  only  to  utter 
a  prayer  that  the  souls  of  those  who  had  obeyed  the 
call  of  their  country  and  fallen  gloriously  as  French- 
men should  rest  in  peace.  Not  for  a  moment  did 
the  idea  cross  their  gentle  minds  that  any  mortal  force 
short  of  invasion  by  the  enemy  could  bring  them  into 
contact  with  it. 

But  that  force  was  already  in  possession  of  Bourg. 
Madame  Dugas  was  a  woman  of  endless  resource. 
Like  many  another  woman  in  this  war  the  moment 
her  executive  faculties,  long  dormant,  were  stirred, 
that  moment  they  began  to  develop  like  the  police 
microbes  in  fevered  veins. 

She  had  visited  that  convent.  She  knew  that  its 
great  walls  sheltered  long  rooms  and  many  of  them. 
It  would  make  an  ideal  hospital  and  she  determined 
that  a  hospital  it  should  be. 

There  was  but  one  recourse.  The  Pope.  Would 
she  dare?  People  wondered.  She  did.  The  Pope, 
who  knew  that  wounded  men  cannot  wait,  granted 
the  holy  nuns  a  temporary  dispensation  from  their 


94  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

vows;  and  when  I  walked  through  the  beautiful  Con- 
vent of  the  Visitation  with  Madame  Dugas,  Madame 
Goujon,  and  M.  Loiseau,  there  were  soldiers  under 
every  tree  and  nuns  were  reading  to  them. 

Nuns  were  also  nursing  those  still  in  the  wards,  for 
nurses  are  none  too  plentiful  in  France  even  yet,  and 
Madame  Dugas  had  stipulated  for  the  nuns  as  well  as 
for  the  convent. 

It  was  a  southern  summer  day.  The  grass  was 
green.  The  ancient  trees  were  heavy  with  leaves. 
Younger  and  more  graceful  trees  drooped  from  the 
terrace  above  a  high  wall  in  the  rear.  The  sky  was 
blue.  The  officers,  the  soldiers,  looked  happy,  the 
nuns  placid.  It  was  an  oasis  in  the  desert  of  war. 

I  leave  obvious  ruminations  to  the  reader. 

When  I  met  Madame  Dugas,  once  more  I  wondered 
if  all  Frenchwomen  who  were  serving  or  sorrowing 
were  really  beautiful  or  if  it  were  but  one  more  in- 
stance of  the  triumph  of  clothes.  Madame  Dugas 
is  an  infirmiere  major,  and  over  her  white  linen  veil 
flowed  one  of  bright  blue,  transparent  and  fine.  She 
wore  the  usual  white  linen  uniform  with  the  red 
cross  on  her  breast,  but  back  from  her  shoulders  as 
she  walked  through  the  streets  with  us  streamed  a 
long  dark  blue  cloak.  She  is  a  very  tall,  very  slender 
woman,  with  a  proud  and  lofty  head,  a  profile  of  that 
almost  attenuated  thinness  that  one  sees  only  on  a 
Frenchwoman,  and  only  then  when  the  centuries  have 
done  the  chiseling.  As  we  walked  down  those  long, 
narrow,  twisted  streets  of  Bourg  between  the  high 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON  95 

walls  with  the  trees  sweeping  over  the  coping,  she 
seemed  to  me  the  most  strikingly  beautiful  woman  I 
had  ever  seen.  But  whether  I  shall  still  think  so  if  I 
see  her  one  of  these  days  in  a  Paris  ballroom  I  have 
not  the  least  idea. 

Madame  Dugas  runs  three  hospitals  at  her  own 
expense  and  is  her  own  committee.  Like  the  rest  of 
the  world  she  expected  the  war  to  last  three  months, 
and  like  the  rest  of  her  countrywomen  who  immedi- 
ately offered  their  services  to  the  state  she  has  no 
intention  of  resigning  until  what  is  left  of  the  armies 
are  in  barracks  once  more.  She  lives  in  a  charming 
old  house  in  Bourg,  roomy  and  well  furnished  and 
with  a  wild  and  classic  garden  below  the  terrace  at 
the  back.  (Some  day  I  shall  write  a  story  about  that 
house  and  garden.)  Here  she  rests  when  she  may, 
and  here  she  gave  us  tea. 

One  wonders  if  these  devoted  Frenchwomen  will 
have  anything  left  of  their  fortunes  if  the  war  con- 
tinues a  few  years  longer.  Madame  Dugas  made  no 
complaint,  but  as  an  example  of  the  increase  in  her 
necessary  expenditures  since  1914  she  mentioned  the 
steadily  rising  price  of  chickens.  They  had  cost  two 
francs  at  the  beginning  of  the  war  and  were  now 
ten.  I  assumed  that  she  gave  her  grands  blesses 
chicken  broth,  which  is  more  than  they  get  in  most 
hospitals. 

Many  of  the  girls  who  had  danced  in  her  salons 
two  years  before,  and  even  their  younger  sisters,  who 
had  had  no  chance  to  "come  out,"  are  helping  Madame 


96  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

Dugas,  both  as  nurses  and  in  many  practical  ways; 
washing  and  doing  other  work  of  menials  as  cheer- 
fully as  they  ever  played  tennis  or  rode  in  la  chasse. 


n 

Curiously  enough,  the  next  woman  whose  work  has 
made  her  notable,  that  Madame  Goujon  took  me  to  see, 
was  very  much  like  Madame  Dugas  in  appearance,  cer- 
tainly of  the  same  type. 

Val  de  Grace  is  the  oldest  military  hospital  in  Paris. 
It  covers  several  acres  and  was  begun  by  Louis  XIII 
and  finished  by  Napoleon.  Before  the  war  it  was  run 
entirely  by  men,  but  one  by  one  or  group  by  group 
these  men,  all  reservists,  were  called  out  and  it  be- 
came a  serious  problem  how  to  keep  it  up  to  its  stand- 
ard. Of  course  women  were  all  very  well  as  nurses, 
but  it  took  strong  men  and  many  of  them  to  cook 
for  thousands  of  wounded,  and  there  was  the  problem 
of  keeping  the  immense  establishment  of  many  build- 
ings well  swept  and  generally  clean.  But  the  men 
had  to  go,  re  formes  were  not  strong  enough  for  the 
work,  every  bed  was  occupied — one  entire  building 
by  tuberculars — and  they  must  both  eat  and  suffer  in 
sanitary  conditions. 

Once  more  they  were  obliged  to  have  recourse  to 
Woman. 

Madame  Olivier,  like  Madame  Dugas  a  dame  du 
monde  and  an  infirmiere  major,  went  to  one  of  the 
hospitals  at  the  Front  on  the  day  war  broke  out, 


MADAME  PIERRE  GOUJON          97 

nursed  under  fire,  of  course,  but  displayed  so  much 
original  executive  ability  as  well  as  willingness  to  do 
anything  to  help,  no  matter  what,  that  she  was  soon 
put  in  charge  of  the  wounded  on  trains.  After  many 
trips,  during  which  she  showed  her  uncommon  talent 
for  soothing  the  wounded,  making  them  comfortable 
even  when  they  were  packed  like  sardines  on  the  floor, 
and  bringing  always  some  sort  of  order  out  of  the 
chaos  of  those  first  days,  she  was  invited  to  take  hold 
of  the  problem  of  Val  de  Grace. 

She  had  solved  it  when  I  paid  my  visit  with 
Madame  Goujon.  She  not  only  had  replaced  all  the 
men  nurses  and  attendants  with  women  but  was  train- 
ing others  and  sending  them  off  to  military  hospitals 
suffering  from  the  same  sudden  depletions  as  Val  de 
Grace.  She  also  told  me  that  three  women  do  the 
work  of  six  men  formerly  employed,  and  that  they 
finished  before  ten  in  the  morning,  whereas  the  men 
never  finished.  The  hospital  when  she  arrived  had 
been  in  a  condition  such  as  men  might  tolerate  but 
certainly  no  woman.  I  walked  through  its  weary 
miles  (barring  the  tuberculosis  wards)  and  I  never 
saw  a  hospital  look  more  sanitarily  span. 

But  the  kitchen  was  the  show  place  of  Val  de  Grace, 
little  as  the  women  hard  at  work  suspected  it.  Where 
Madame  Olivier  found  those  giantesses  I  cannot  imag- 
ine; certainly  not  in  a  day.  She  must  have  sifted 
France  for  them.  They  looked  like  peasant  women 
and  no  doubt  they  were.  Only  the  soil  could  produce 
such  powerful  cart-horse  females. 


98  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

And  only  such  cart-horses  could  have  cooked  in 
the  great  kitchen  of  Val  de  Grace.  On  a  high  range 
that  ran  the  length  of  the  room  were  copper  pots  as 
large  as  vats,  full  of  stew,  and  these  the  Brobdinagians 
stirred  with  wooden  implements  that  appeared  to  my 
shattered  senses  as  large  as  spades.  No  doubt  they 
were  of  inferior  dimensions,  but  even  so  they  were 
formidable.  How  those  women  stirred  and  stirred 
those  steaming  messes!  I  never  shall  forget  it.  And 
they  could  also  move  those  huge  pots  about,  those  ter- 
rible females.  I  thought  of  the  French  Revolution. 

Madame  Olivier,  ruling  all  this  force,  giantesses 
included,  with  a  rod  of  iron,  stood  there  in  the  entrance 
of  the  immaculate  kitchen  looking  dainty  and  out  of 
place,  with  her  thin  proud  profile,  her  clear  dark  skin, 
beautifully  tinted  in  the  cheeks,  her  seductive  infirmiere 
uniform.  But  she  has  accomplished  one  of  the  minor 
miracles  of  the  war. 

I  wonder  if  all  these  remarkable  women  of  France 
will  be  decorated  one  of  these  days?  They  have 
earned  the  highest  citations,  but  perhaps  they  have 
merely  done  their  duty  as  Frenchwomen.  C'est  la 
guerre. 


VIII 
VALENTINE  THOMPSON 


FORTUNATE  are  those  women  who  not  only  are 
able  to  take  care  of  themselves  but  of  their  de- 
pendents during  this  long  period  of  financial  depres- 
sion ;  still  more  fortunate  are  those  who,  either  wealthy 
or  merely  independent,  are  able  both  to  stand  between 
the  great  mass  of  unfortunates  and  starvation  and  to 
serve  their  country  in  old  ways  and  new. 

More  fortunate  still  are  the  few  who,  having  made 
for  themselves  by  their  talents  and  energy  a  position 
of  leadership  before  the  war,  were  immediately  able 
to  carry  their  patriotic  plans  into  effect. 

In  March,  1914,  Mile.  Valentine  Thompson,  al- 
ready known  as  one  of  the  most  active  of  the  younger 
feminists,  and  distinctly  the  most  brilliant,  established 
a  weekly  newspaper  which  she  called  La  Vie  Fem- 
inine. The  little  journal  had  a  twofold  purpose :  to 
offer  every  sort  of  news  and  encouragement  to  the 
by-no-means-flourishing  party  and  to  give  advice, 
assistance,  and  situations  to  women  out  of  work. 

Mile.  Thompson's  father  at  the  moment  was  in  the 
Cabinet,  holding  the  portfolio  of  Ministre  du  Com- 

99 


ioo  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

merce.  Her  forefathers  on  either  side  had  for  gen- 
erations been  in  public  life.  She  and  her  grandmother 
had  both  won  a  position  with  their  pen  and  therefore 
moved  not  only  in  the  best  political  but  the  best  liter- 
ary society  of  Paris.  Moreover  Mile.  Thompson  had 
a  special  penchant  for  Americans  and  knew  more  or 
less  intimately  all  of  any  importance  who  lived  in 
Paris  or  visited  it  regularly.  Mrs.  Tuck,  the  wealthiest 
American  living  in  France — it  has  been  her  home  for 
thirty  years  and  she  and  her  husband  have  spent  a 
fortune  on  charities — was  one  of  her  closest  friends. 
All  Americans  who  went  to  Paris  with  any  higher 
purpose  than  buying  clothes  or  entertaining  duchesses 
at  the  Ritz,  took  letters  to  her.  Moreover,  she  is  by 
common  consent,  and  without  the  aid  of  widow's  bon- 
net or  Red  Cross  uniform,  one  of  the  handsomest 
women  in  Paris.  She  is  of  the  Amazon  type,  with  dark 
eyes  and  hair,  a  fine  complexion,  regular  features,  any 
expression  she  chooses  to  put  on,  and  she  is  always  the 
well-dressed  Parisienne  in  detail  as  well  as  in  effect. 
Her  carriage  is  haughty  and  dashing,  her  volubility 
racial,  her  enthusiasm,  while  it  lasts,  bears  down  every 
obstacle,  and  her  nature  is  imperious.  She  must  hold 
the  center  of  the  stage  and  the  reins  of  power.  I 
should  say  that  she  was  the  most  ambitious  woman  in 
France. 

She  is  certainly  one  of  its  towering  personalities 
and  if  she  does  not  stand  out  at  the  end  of  the  war 
as  Woman  and  Her  Achievements  personified  it  will 
be  because  she  has  the  defects  of  her  genius.  Her 


VALENTINE  THOMPSON  101 

restless  ambition  and  her  driving  energy  hurl  her 
headlong  into  one  great  relief  work  after  another,  until 
she  has  undertaken  more  than  any  mere  mortal  can 
carry  through  in  any  given  space  of  time.  She  is  there- 
fore in  danger  of  standing  for  no  one  monumental 
work  (as  will  be  the  happy  destiny  of  Mile.  Javal,  for 
instance),  although  no  woman's  activities  or  sacrifices 
will  have  been  greater. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  such  a  woman  when  she 
started  a  newspaper  would  be  in  a  position  to  induce 
half  the  prominent  men  and  women  in  France  either 
to  write  for  it  or  to  give  interviews,  and  this  she  did, 
of  course;  she  has  a  magnificent  publicity  sense.  The 
early  numbers  of  La  Vie  Feminine  were  almost  choked 
with  names  known  to  "tout  Paris."  It  flourished  in 
both  branches,  and  splendid  offices  were  opened  on  the 
Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees.  Women  came  for  ad- 
vice and  employment  and  found  both,  for  Mile. 
Thompson  is  as  sincere  in  her  desire  to  help  the  less 
fortunate  of  her  sex  as  she  is  in  her  feminism. 

II 

Then  came  the  War. 

Mile.  Thompson's  plans  were  formed  in  a  day,  her 
Committees  almost  as  quickly.  La  Vie  Feminine 
opened  no  less  than  seven  ouvroirs,  where  five  hundred 
women  were  given  work.  When  the  refugees  began 
pouring  in  she  was  among  the  first  to  ladle  out  soup 
and  deplete  her  wardrobe.  She  even  went  to  the 
hastily  formed  hospitals  in  Paris  and  offered  her  serv- 


102  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

ices.  As  she  was  not  a  nurse  she  was  obliged  to  do 
the  most  menial  work,  which  not  infrequently  con- 
sisted in  washing  the  filthy  poilus  wounded  after  weeks 
of  fighting  without  a  bath  or  change  of  clothing. 
Sometimes  the  dirt-caked  soldiers  were  natives  of 
Algiers.  But  she  performed  her  task  with  her  accus- 
tomed energy  and  thoroughness,  and  no  doubt  the 
mere  sight  of  her  was  a  God-send  to  those  men  who 
had  for  so  long  looked  upon  nothing  but  blood  and 
death  and  horrors. 

Then  came  the  sound  of  the  German  guns  thirty 
kilometers  from  Paris.  The  Government  decided  to 
go  to  Bordeaux.  Mile.  Thompson's  father  insisted 
that  his  daughter  accompany  himself  and  her  mother. 
At  first  she  refused.  What  should  she  do  with  the 
five  hundred  women  in  her  ouvroirs,  the  refugees  she 
fed  daily?  She  appealed  to  Ambassador  Herrick. 
But  our  distinguished  representative  shook  his  head. 
He  had  trouble  enough  on  his  hands.  The  more  beau- 
tiful young  women  who  removed  themselves  from 
Paris  before  the  Boche  entered  it  the  simpler  would 
be  the  task  of  the  men  forced  to  remain.  It  was  seri- 
ous enough  that  her  even  more  beautiful  sister  had 
elected  to  remain  with  her  husband,  whose  duties  for- 
bade him  to  flee.  Go,  Mademoiselle,  and  go  quickly. 

Mile.  Thompson  yielded  but  she  made  no  precipi- 
tate flight.  Collecting  the  most  influential  and  gen- 
erous members  of  her  Committees,  she  raised  the  sum 
needed  for  a  special  train  of  forty  cars.  Into  this  she 
piled  the  five  hundred  women  of  her  ouvroirs  and 


VALENTINE  THOMPSON  103 

their  children,  a  large  number  of  refugees,  and  an 
orphan  asylum — one  thousand  in  all.  When  it  had 
steamed  out  of  Paris  and  was  unmistakably  on  its 
way  to  the  South  she  followed.  But  not  to  sit  fuming 
in  Bordeaux  waiting  for  General  Joffre  to  settle  the 
fate  of  Paris.  She  spent  the  three  or  four  weeks  of 
her  exile  in  finding  homes  or  situations  for  her  thou- 
sand helpless  charges,  in  Blanquefort,  Lourdes,  Bay- 
onne,  Marseilles,  Bordeaux  and  other  southern  cities 
and  small  towns,  forming  in  each  a  Committee  to  look 
out  for  them. 

in 

Soon  after  her  return  to  Paris  she  conceived  and 
put  into  operation  the  idea  of  an  ficole  Hoteliere. 

Thousands  of  Germans  and  Austrians,  employed  as 
waiters  or  in  other  capacities  about  the  hotels,  either 
had  slunk  out  of  Paris  just  before  war  was  declared 
or  were  interned.  Even  the  Swiss  had  been  recalled 
to  protect  their  frontiers.  The  great  hotels  supplied 
the  vacancies  with  men  hastily  invited  from  neutral 
countries,  very  green  and  very  exorbitant  in  their 
demands.  Hundreds  of  the  smaller  hotels  were 
obliged  to  close,  although  the  smallest  were,  as  ever, 
run  by  the  wife  of  the  proprietor,  and  her  daughters 
when  old  enough. 

But  that  was  only  half  of  the  problem.  After  the 
war  all  these  hotels  must  open  to  accommodate  the 
tourists  who  would  flock  to  Europe.  The  Swiss  of 
course  could  be  relied  upon  to  take  the  first  train  to 


104  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

Paris  after  peace  was  declared,  but  the  Germans  and 
Austrians  had  been  as  thick  in  France  as  flies  on  a 
battlefield,  and  it  will  be  a  generation  before  either 
will  fatten  on  Latin  credulity  again.  Even  if  the  peo- 
ple of  the  Central  Powers  revolt  and  set  up  a  republic 
it  will  be  long  before  the  French,  who  are  anything 
but  volatile  in  their  essence,  will  be  able  to  look  at  a 
Boche  without  wanting  to  spit  on  him  or  to  kick  him 
out  of  the  way  as  one  would  a  vicious  cur. 

To  Mile.  Thompson,  although  men  fall  at  her  feet, 
the  answer  to  every  problem  is  Woman. 

She  formed  another  powerful  Committee,  roused 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  Touring  Club  de  France,  rented 
a  dilapidated  villa  in  Passy,  and  after  enlisting  the 
practical  sympathies  of  furnishers,  decorators,  "maga- 
zins,"  and  persons  generally  whose  business  it  is  to 
make  a  house  comfortable  and  beautiful,  she  adver- 
tised not  only  in  the  Paris  but  in  all  the  provincial 
newspapers  for  young  women  of  good  family  whose 
marriage  prospects  had  been  ruined  by  the  war  and 
who  would  wish  to  fit  themselves  scientifically  for  the 
business  of  hotel  keeping.  Each  should  be  educated 
in  every  department  from  directrice  to  scullion. 

The  answers  were  so  numerous  that  she  was  forced 
to  deny  many  whose  lovers  had  been  killed  or  whose 
parents  no  longer  could  hope  to  provide  them  with  the 
indispensable  dot.  The  repairs  and  installations  of  the 
villa  having  been  rushed,  it  was  in  running  order  and 
its  dormitories  were  filled  by  some  thirty  young  women 
in  an  incredibly  short  time.  Mile.  Jacquier,  who  had 


VALENTINE  THOMPSON  105 

presided  over  a  somewhat  similar  school  in  Switzer- 
land, was  installed  as  directrice. 

Each  girl,  in  addition  to  irreproachable  recom- 
mendations and  the  written  consent  of  her  parents, 
must  pay  seventy  francs  a  month,  bring  a  specified 
amount  of  underclothing,  etc. ;  and,  whatever  her 
age  or  education,  must,  come  prepared  to  submit 
to  the  discipline  of  the  school.  In  return  they  were 
to  be  taught  not  only  how  to  fill  all  positions  in  a 
hotel,  but  the  scientific  principles  of  domestic  economy, 
properties  of  food,  combined  with  the  proportions 
necessary  to  health,  bookkeeping,  English,  correspond- 
ence, geography,  arithmetic — "calcul  rapide" — gym- 
nastics, deportment,  hygiene. 

Moreover,  when  at  the  end  of  "the  three  months' 
course  they  had  taken  their  diplomas,  places  would 
be  found  for  them.  If  they  failed  to  take  their 
diplomas  and  could  not  afford  another  course,  still 
would  places,  but  of  an  inferior  order,  be  provided. 
After  the  first  students  arrived  it  became  known  that 
an  ex-pupil  without  place  and  without  money  could 
always  find  a  temporary  refuge  there.  Even  if  she  had 
"gone  wrong"  she  might  come  and  ask  for  advice  and 
help. 

IV 

When  I  arrived  in  Paris  I  had  two  letters  to  Mile. 
Thompson  and  after  I  had  been  there  about  ten  days 
I  went  with  Mr.  Jaccaci  to  call  on  her  at  the  offices 
of  La  Vie  Feminine,  and  found  them  both  sumptuous 


io6  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

and  a  hive  of  activities.  In  the  course  of  the  rapid 
give-and-take  conversation — if  it  can  be  called  that 
when  one  sits  tight  with  the  grim  intention  of  pinning 
Mile.  Thompson  to  one  subject  long  enough  to  ex- 
tract definite  information  from  her — we  discovered 
that  she  had  translated  one  of  my  books.  Neither  of 
us  could  remember  which  it  was,  although  I  had  a 
dim  visualization  of  the  correspondence,  but  it  formed 
an  immediate  bond.  Moreover — another  point  I  had 
quite  forgotten — when  her  friend,  Madame  Leverriere, 
had  visited  the  United  States  some  time  previously  to 
put  Mile.  Thompson's  dolls  on  the  market,  I  had  been 
asked  to  write  something  in  favor  of  the  work  for  the 
New  York  Times.  Madame  Leverriere,  who  was 
present,  informed  me  enthusiastically  that  I  had  helped 
her  enormcment,  and  there  was  another  bond. 

The  immediate  consequence  was  that,  although  I 
could  get  little  that  was  coherent  from  Mile.  Thomp- 
son's torrent  of  classic  French,  I  was  invited  to  be  an 
inmate  of  the  ficole  Hoteliere  at  Passy.  I  had  men- 
tioned that  although  I  was  comfortable  at  the  luxuri- 
ous Hotel  de  Crilkm,  still  when  I  went  upstairs  and 
closed  my  door  I  was  in  the  atmosphere  of  two  years 
ago.  And  I  must  have  constant  atmosphere,  for  my 
time  was  limited.  I  abominated  pensions,  and  from 
what  I  had  heard  of  French  families  who  took  in  a 
"paying  guest,"  or,  in  their  tongue,  dame  pensionnaire , 
I  had  concluded  that  the  total  renouncement  of  atmos- 
phere was  the  lesser  evil. 

Would  I  go  out  and  see  the  ficole  Feminine?     I 


VALENTINE  THOMPSON  107 

would.  It  sounded  interesting  and  a  visit  committed 
me  to  nothing.  Mile.  Thompson  put  it  charmingly. 
I  should  be  conferring  a  favor.  There  was  a  guest 
chamber  and  no  guest  for  the  pupils  to  practice  on. 
And  it  would  be  an  honor,  etc. 

We  drove  out  to  Passy  and  I  found  the  ficole  Fem- 
inine in  the  Boulevard  Beausejour  all  and  more  than 
Mile.  Thompson  had  taken  the  time  to  portray  in 
detail.  The  entrance  was  at  the  side  of  the  house 
and  one  approached  it  through  a  large  gateway  which 
led  to  a  cul-de-sac  lined  with  villas  and  filled  with 
beautiful  old  trees  that  enchanted  my  eye.  I  cursed 
those  trees  later  but  at  the,  moment  they  almost  de- 
cided me  before  I  entered  the  house. 

The  interior,  having  been  done  by  enthusiastic  ad- 
mirers of  Mile.  Thompson,  was  not  only  fresh  and 
modern  but  artistic  and  striking.  The  salon  was  pan- 
eled, but  the  dining-room  had  been  decorated  by 
Poiret  with  great  sprays  and  flowers  splashed  on  the 
walls,  picturesque  vegetables  that  had  parted  with  their 
humility  between  the  garden  and  the  palette.  Through 
a  glass  partition  one  saw  the  shining  kitchen  with 
its  large  modern  range,  its  rows  and  rows  of  the  most 
expensive  utensils — all  donations  by  the  omnifarious 
army  of  Mile.  Thompson's  devotees. 

Behind  the  salon  was  the  schoolroom,  with  its 
blackboard,  its  four  long  tables,  its  charts  for  food 
proportions.  All  the  girls  wore  blue  linen  aprons  that 
covered  them  from  head  to  foot. 

I  followed  Mile.  Thompson  up  the  winding  stair 


io8  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

and  was  shown  the  dormitories,  the  walls  decorated 
as  gaily  as  if  for  a  bride,  but  otherwise  of  a  severe 
if  comfortable  simplicity.  Every  cot  was  as  neat  as  a 
new  hospital's  in  the  second  year  of  the  war,  and 
there  was  an  immense  lavatory  on  each  floor. 

Then  I  was  shown  the  quarters  destined  for  me  if  I 
would  so  far  condescend,  etc.  There  was  quite  a  large 
bedroom,  with  a  window  looking  out  over  a  mass  of 
green,  and  the  high  terraces  of  houses  beyond;  the 
garden  of  a  neighbor  was  just  below.  There  was  a 
very  large  wardrobe,  with  shelves  that  pulled  out,  and 
one  of  those  wash-stands  where  a  minute  tank  is  filled 
every  morning  (when  not  forgotten)  and  the  bowl  is 
tipped  into  a  noisy  tin  just  below. 

The  room  was  in  a  little  hallway  of  its  own  which 
terminated  in  a  large  bathroom  with  two  enormous 
tubs.  Of  course  the  water  was  heated  in  a  copper 
boiler  situated  between  the  tubs,  for  although  the 
ficole  Feminine  was  modern  it  was  not  too  modern. 
The  point,  however,  was  that  I  should  have  my  daily 
bath,  and  that  the  entire  school  would  delight  in 
waiting  on  me. 

It  did  not  take  me  any  time  whatever  to  decide.  I 
might  not  be  comfortable  but  I  certainly  should  be 
interested.  I  moved  in  that  day.  Mile.  Thompson's 
original  invitation  to  be  her  guest  (in  return  for  the 
small  paragraph  I  had  written  about  the  dolls)  was 
not  to  be  entertained  for  a  moment.  I  wished  to  feel 
at  liberty  to  stay  as  long  as  I  liked ;  and  it  was  finally 


VALENTINE  THOMPSON  109 

agreed  that  at  the  end  of  the  week  Mile.  Thompson 
and  Mile.  Jacquier  should  decide  upon  the  price. 


I  remained  something  like  three  months.  There 
were  three  trolley  lines,  a  train,  a  cab-stand,  a  good 
shopping  street  within  a  few  steps,  the  place  itself  was 
a  haven  of  rest  after  my  long  days  in  Paris  meeting 
people  by  the  dozen  and  taking  notes  of  their  work, 
and  the  cooking  was  the  most  varied  and  the  most 
delicate  I  have  ever  eaten  anywhere.  A  famous  re- 
tired chef  had  offered  his  services  three  times  a  week 
for  nothing  and  each  girl  during  her  two  weeks  in 
the  kitchen  learned  how  to  prepare  eggs  in  forty  dif- 
ferent ways,  to  say  nothing  of  sauces  and  delicacies 
that  the  Ritz  itself  could  not  afford.  I  received  the 
benefit  of  all  the  experiments.  I  could  also  amuse 
myself  looking  through  the  glass  partition  at  the 
little  master  chef,  whose  services  thousands  could 
not  command,  rushing  about  the  kitchen,  waving  his 
arms,  tearing  his  hair,  shrieking  against  the  incredible 
stupidity  of  young  females  whom  heaven  had  not 
endowed  with  the  genius  for  cooking;  and  who,  no 
doubt,  had  never  cooked  anything  at  all  before  they 
answered  the  advertisement  of  Mile.  Thompson. 
Few  that  had  not  belonged  to  well-to-do  families 
whose  heavy  work  had  been  done  by  servants. 

A  table  was  given  me  in  a  corner  by  myself  and 
the  other  tables  were  occupied  by  the  girls  who  at 


no  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

the  moment  were  not  serving  their  fortnight  in  the 
kitchen  or  as  waitresses.  These  were  treated  as  cere- 
moniously (being  practiced  on)  as  I  was,  although 
their  food,  substantial  and  plentiful,  was  not  as  choice 
as  mine.  I  could  have  had  all  my  meals  served  in 
my  rooms  if  I  had  cared  to  avail  myself  of  the  privi- 
lege; but  not  I!  If  you  take  but  one  letter  to  Society 
in  France  you  may,  if  you  stay  long  enough,  and  are 
not  personally  disagreeable,  meet  princesses,  duchesses, 
marquises,  countesses,  by  the  dozen;  but  to  meet  the 
coldly  aloof  and  suspicious  bourgeoisie,  who  hate  the 
sight  of  a  stranger,  particularly  the  petite  bourgeoisie, 
is  more  difficult  than  for  a  German  to  explain  the 
sudden  lapse  of  his  country  into  barbarism.  Here  was 
a  unique  opportunity,  and  I  held  myself  to  be  very 
fortunate. 

Was  I  comfortable?  Judged  by  the  American 
standard,  certainly  not.  My  bed  was  soft  enough,  and 
my  breakfast  was  brought  to  me  at  whatever  hour  I 
rang  for  it.  But,  as  was  the  case  all  over  Paris,  the 
central  heat  had  ceased  abruptly  on  its  specified  date 
and  I  nearly  froze.  During  the  late  afternoon  and 
evenings  all  through  May  and  the  greater  part  of 
June  I  sat  wrapped  in  my  traveling  cloak  and  went 
to  bed  as  soon  as  the  evening  ceremonies  of  my  two 
fortnightly  attendants  were  over.  I  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  interrupt  the  advance  of  a  German  taube 
as  to  interfere  with  any  of  Mile.  Jacquier's  ortho- 
doxies. 

Moreover  four  girls,  with  great  chattering,  invari- 


VALENTINE  THOMPSON  111 

ably  prepared  my  bath — which  circumstances  decided 
me  to  take  at  night — and  I  had  to  wait  until  all  their 
confidences — exchanged  as  they  sat  in  a  row  on  the 
edge  of  the  two  tubs — were  over.  Then  something 
happened  to  the  boiler,  and  as  all  the  plumbers  were 
in  the  trenches,  and  ubiquitous  woman  seemed  to  have 
stopped  short  in  her  new  accomplishments  at  mending 
pipes,  I  had  to  wait  until  a  permissionnaire  came  home 
on  his  six  days'  leave,  and  that  was  for  five  weeks. 
More  than  once  I  decided  to  go  back  to  the  Crillon, 
where  the  bathrooms  are  the  last  cry  in  luxury,  for  I 
detest  the  makeshift  bath,  but  by  this  time  I  was  too 
fascinated  by  the  ficole  to  tear  myself  away. 

Naturally  out  of  thirty  girls  there  were  some  an- 
tagonistic personalities,  and  two  or  three  I  took  such 
an  intense  dislike  to  that  I  finally  prevailed  upon  Mile. 
Jacquier  to  keep  them  out  of  my  room  and  away  from 
my  table.  But  the  majority  of  the  students  were 
"regular  girls."  At  first  I  was  as  welcome  in  the 
dining-room  as  a  Prussian  sentinel,  and  they  ex- 
changed desultory  remarks  in  whispers;  but  after  a 
while  they  grew  accustomed  to  me  and  chattered  like 
magpies.  I  could  hear  them  again  in  their  dormitories 
until  about  half-past  ten  at  night.  Mile.  Jacquier  asked 
me  once  with  some  anxiety  if  I  minded,  and  I  assured 
her  that  I  liked  it.  This  was  quite  true,  for  these 
girls,  all  so  eager  and  natural,  and  even  gay,  despite 
the  tragedy  in  the  background  of  many,  seemed  to  me 
the  brightest  spot  in  Paris. 

It   is   true   that    I    remonstrated,    and    frequently, 


112  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

against  the  terrific  noise  they  made  every  morning 
at  seven  o'clock  when  they  clamped  across  the  uncar- 
peted  hall  and  down  the  stairs.  But  although  they 
would  tiptoe  for  a  day  they  would  forget  again,  and 
I  finally  resigned  myself.  I  also  did  my  share  in 
training  them  to  wait  on  a  guest  in  her  room!  Not 
one  when  I  arrived  had  anything  more  than  a  theo- 
retical idea  of  what  to  do  beyond  making  a  bed,  sweep- 
ing, and  dusting.  I  soon  discovered  that  the  more 
exacting  I  was — and  there  were  times  when  I  was 
exceeding  stormy — the  better  Mile.  Jacquier  was 
pleased. 

She  had  her  hands  full.  Her  discipline  was  superb 
and  she  addressed  each  with  invariable  formality  as 

"Mademoiselle  " ;  but  they  were  real  girls,  full 

of  vitality,  and  always  on  the  edge  of  rebellion.  I 
listened  to  some  stinging  rebukes  delivered  by  Mile. 
Jacquier  when  she  would  arise  in  her  wrath  in  the 
dining-room  and  address  them  collectively.  She 
knew  how  to  get  under  their  skin,  for  they  would 
blush,  hang  their  heads,  and  writhe. 

VI 

But  Mile.  Jacquier  told  me  that  what  really  kept 
them  in  order  was  the  influence  of  Mile.  Thompson. 
At  first  she  came  every  week  late  in  the  afternoon 
to  give  them  a  talk;  then  every  fortnight;  then — oh 
la!  la! 

I  listened  to  one  or  two  of  these  talks.     The  girls 


VALENTINE  THOMPSON  113 

sat  in  a  semicircle,  hardly  breathing,  their  eyes  filling 
with  tears  whenever  Mile.  Thompson,  who  sat  at  a 
table  at  the  head  of  the  room,  played  on  that  particular 
key. 

I  never  thought  Valentine  Thompson  more  remark- 
able than  during  this  hour  dedicated  to  the  tuning 
and  exalting  of  the  souls  of  these  girls.  Several  told 
me  that  she  held  their  hearts  in  her  hands  when  she 
talked  and  that  they  would  follow  her  straight  to  the 
battlefield.  She,  herself,  assumed  her  most  serious 
and  exalted  expression.  I  have  never  heard  any  one 
use  more  exquisite  French.  Not  for  a  moment  did 
she  talk  down  to  those  girls  of  a  humbler  sphere.  She 
lifted  them  to  her  own.  Her  voice  took  on  deeper 
tones,  but  she  always  stopped  short  of  being  dramatic. 
French  people  of  all  classes  are  too  keen  and  clear- 
sighted and  intelligent  to  be  taken  in  by  theatrical 
tricks,  and  Mile.  Thompson  made  no  mistakes.  Her 
only  mistake  was  in  neglecting  these  girls  later  on  for 
other  new  enterprises  that  claimed  her  ardent  imagi- 
nation. 

She  talked,  I  remember,  of  patriotism,  of  morale,  of 
their  duty  to  excel  in  their  present  studies  that  they 
might  be  of  service  not  only  to  their  impoverished  fam- 
ilies but  to  their  beloved  France.  It  was  not  so  much 
what  she  said  as  the  lovely  way  in  which  she  said  it, 
her  impressive  manner  and  appearance,  her  almost 
overwhelming  but,  for  the  occasion,  wholly  democratic 
personality. 

Once  a  week  Mile.  Thompson  and  the  heads  of  the 


114  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

Touring  Club  de  France  had  a  breakfast  at  the  ficole 
and  tables  were  laid  even  in  the  salon.  I  was  always 
somebody's  guest  upon  these  Tuesdays,  unless  I  was 
engaged  elsewhere,  and  had,  moreover,  been  for  years 
a  member  of  the  Touring  Club.  Some  of  the  most 
distinguished  men  and  women  of  Paris  came  to  the 
breakfasts:  statesmen,  journalists,  authors,  artists, 
people  of  le  beau  monde,  visiting  English  and  Ameri- 
cans as  well  as  French  people  of  note.  Naturally  the 
students  became  expert  waitresses  and  chasseurs  as 
well  as  cooks. 

Altogether  I  should  have  only  the  pleasantest  mem- 
ories of  the  ficole  Feminine  had  it  not  been  for  the 
mosquitoes.  I  do  not  believe  that  New  Jersey  ever 
had  a  worse  record  than  Paris  that  summer.  Every 
leaf  of  every  one  of  those  beautiful  trees  beyond  my 
window,  over  whose  tops  I  used  to  gaze  at  the  air- 
planes darting  about  on  the  lookout  for  taubes,  was 
an  incubator.  I  exhausted  the  resources  of  two  chem- 
ist shops  in  Passy  and  one  in  Paris.  I  tried  every 
invention,  went  to  bed  reeking  with  turpentine,  and 
burned  evil-smelling  pastiles.  Mile.  Jacquier  came  in 
every  night  and  slew  a  dozen  with  a  towel  as  scien- 
tifically as  she  did  everything  else.  All  of  no  avail. 
At  one  time  I  was  so  spotted  that  I  had  to  wear  a  still 
more  heavily  spotted  veil.  I  looked  as  if  afflicted  with 
measles. 

Oddly  enough  the  prettiest  of  the  students,  whose 
first  name  was  Alice,  was  the  only  one  of  us 
all  ignored  by  the  mosquitoes.  She  had  red-gold  hair 


VALENTINE  THOMPSON  115 

and  a  pink  and  white  skin  of  great  delicacy,  and  she 
might  have  been  the  twin  of  Elsie  Ferguson.  A  few 
of  the  other  girls  were  passably  good-looking  but  she 
was  the  only  one  with  anything  like  beauty — which, 
it  would  seem,  is  practically  confined  to  the  noblesse 
and  grande  bourgeoisie  in  France.  Next  to  her  in 
looks  came  Mile.  Jacquier,  who  if  she  had  a  dot  would 
have  been  snapped  up  long  since. 

Alice  had  had  two  fiances  (selected  by  her  mother) 
and  both  young  officers ;  one,  an  Englishman,  had  been 
killed  in  the  first  year  of  the  war.  She  was  only 
eighteen.  At  one  time  the  northern  town  she  lived  in 
was  threatened  by  the  Germans,  and  Mrs.  Vail  of 
Boston  (whose  daughter  is  so  prominent  at  the  Ameri- 
can Fund  for  French  Wounded  headquarters  in  Paris), 
being  on  the  spot  and  knowing  how  much  there  would 
be  left  of  the  wildrose  innocence  that  bloomed  visibly 
on  Alice's  plump  cheeks,  whisked  her  off  to  London. 
There  she  remained  until  she  heard  of  Mile.  Thomp- 
son's School,  when  Mrs.  Vail  brought  her  to  Paris. 
As  she  was  not  only  pretty  and  charming  but  intel- 
ligent, I  exerted  myself  to  find  her  a  place  before  I 
left,  and  I  believe  she  is  still  with  Mrs.  Thayer  in  the 
Hotel  Cecilia. 

VII 

The  ficole  Feminine,  I  am  told,  is  no  more.  Mile. 
Thompson  found  it  impossible  to  raise  the  necessary 
money  to  keep  it  going.  The  truth  is,  I  fancy,  that 
she  approached  generous  donators  for  too  many  dif- 


ii6  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

ferent  objects  and  too  many  times.  Perhaps  the  ficole 
will  be  reopened  later  on.  If  not  it  will  always  be  a 
matter  of  regret  not  only  for  France  but  for  Valentine 
Thompson's  own  sake  that  she  did  not  concentrate  on 
this  useful  enterprise;  it  would  have  been  a  definite 
monument  in  the  center  of  her  shifting  activities. 

I  have  no  space  to  give  even  a  list  of  her  manifold 
ceuvres,  but  one  at  least  bids  fair  to  be  associated 
permanently  with  her  name.  What  is  now  known  in 
the  United  States  as  the  French  Heroes'  Fund  was 
started  by  Mile.  Thompson  under  the  auspices  of  La 
Vie  Feminine  to  help  the  reformes  rebuild  their  lives. 
The  greater  number  could  not  work  at  their  old  avoca- 
tions, being  minus  an  arm  or  a  leg.  But  they  learned 
to  make  toys  and  many  useful  articles,  and  worked  at 
home;  in  good  weather,  sitting  before  their  doors  in 
the  quiet  village  street.  A  vast  number  of  these  Mile. 
Thompson  and  various  members  of  her  Committee 
located,  tabulated,  encouraged;  and,  once  a  fortnight, 
collected  their  work.  This  was  either  sold  in  Paris 
or  sent  to  America. 

In  New  York  Mrs.  William  Astor  Chanler  and  Mr. 
John  Moffat  organized  the  work  under  its  present  title 
and  raised  the  money  to  buy  Lafayette's  birthplace. 
They  got  it  at  a  great  bargain,  $20,000;  for  a  large 
number  of  acres  were  included  in  the  purchase.  An- 
other $20,000,  also  raised  by  Mr.  Moffatt,  repaired  and 
furnished  the  chateau,  which  not  only  is  to  be  a  sort 
of  French  Mt.  Vernon,  with  rooms  dedicated  to  relics 
of  Lafayette  and  the  present  war,  as  well  as  a  memo- 


VALENTINE  THOMPSON  117 

rial  room  for  the  American  heroes  who  have  fallen 
for  France,  but  an  orphanage  is  to  be  built  in  the 
grounds,  and  the  repairs  as  well  as  all  the  other  work 
is  to  be  done  by  the  blind  and  the  mutilated,  who  will 
thus  not  be  objects  of  charity  but  made  to  feel  them- 
selves men  once  more  and  able  to  support  their  fam- 
ilies. The  land  will  be  rented  to  the  reforrnes,  the 
mutiles  and  the  blind. 

Mile.  Thompson  and  Mrs.  Chanler,  with  the  help 
of  a  powerful  Committee,  are  pushing  this  work  for- 
ward as  rapidly  as  possible  in  the  circumstances  and 
no  doubt  it  will  be  one  of  the  first  war  meccas  of  the 
American  tourists  so  long  separated  from  their  be- 
loved Europe. 

VIII 

The  most  insistent  memory  of  my  life  in  Passy  at 
the  Hotel  Feminine  is  the  Battle  of  the  Somme.  After 
it  commenced  in  July  I  heard  the  great  guns  day 
and  night  for  a  week.  That  deep,  steady,  portentous 
booming  had  begun  to  exert  a  morbid  fascination  be- 
fore the  advance  carried  the  cannon  out  of  my  range, 
and  I  had  an  almost  irresistible  desire  to  pack  up  and 
follow  it.  The  ancestral  response  to  the  old  god  of 
war  is  more  persistent  than  any  of  us  imagine,  I 
fancy.  I  was  close  to  the  lines  some  weeks  later,  when 
I  went  into  the  Zone  des  Armees,  and  it  is  quite  positive 
that  not  only  does  that  dreary  and  dangerous  region 
exert  a  sinister  fascination  but  that  it  seems  to  expel 


ii8  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

fear  from  your  composition.  It  is  as  if  for  the  first 
time  you  were  in  the  normal  condition  of  life,  which 
during  the  centuries  of  the  ancestors  to  whom  you  owe 
your  brain-cells,  was  war,  not  peace. 


ONE  has  learned  to  associate  Madame  Wadding- 
ton  so  intimately  with  the  glittering  surface 
life  of  Europe  that  although  every  one  knows  she  was 
born  in  New  York  of  historic  parentage,  one  recalls 
with  something  of  a  shock  now  and  then  that  she  was 
not  only  educated  in  this  country  but  did  not  go  to 
France  to  live  until  after  the  death  of  her  father  in 
1871. 

This  no  doubt  accounts  for  the  fact  that  meeting 
her  for  the  first  time  one  finds  her  unmistakably  an 
American  woman.  Her  language  may  be  French  but 
she  has  a  directness  and  simplicity  that  no  more  iden- 
tifies her  with  a  European  woman  of  any  class  than 
with  the  well-known  exigencies  of  diplomacy.  Ma- 
dame Waddington  strikes  one  as  quite  remarkably 
fearless  and  downright ;  she  appears  to  be  as  outspoken 
as  she  is  vivacious;  and  as  her  husband  had  a  highly 
successful  career  as  a  diplomatist,  and  as  his  debt  to 
his  brilliant  wife  is  freely  conceded,  Madame  Wad- 
dington is  certainly  a  notable  instance  of  the  gay  per- 
sistence of  an  intelligent  American  woman's  person- 

119 


120  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

ality,  combined  with  the  proper  proportion  of  acute- 
ness,  quickness,  and  charm  which  force  a  highly  con- 
ventionalized and  specialized  society  to  take  her  on 
her  own  terms.  The  greater  number  of  diplomatic 
women  as  well  as  ladies-in-waiting  that  I  have  run 
across  during  my  European  or  Washington  episodes 
have  about  as  much  personality  as  a  door-mat.  Many 
of  our  own  women  have  been  admirable  helpmates  to 
our  ambassadors,  but  I  recall  none  that  has  played  a 
great  personal  role  in  the  world.  Not  a  few  have  con- 
tributed to  the  gaiety  of  nations. 

Madame  Waddington  has  had  four  separate  careers 
quite  aside  from  the  always  outstanding  career  of  girl- 
hood. Her  father  was  Charles  King,  President  of 
Columbia  College  and  son  of  Rufus  King,  second 
United  States  Minister  to  England.  When  she  mar- 
ried M.  Waddington,  a  Frenchman  of  English  descent, 
and  educated  at  Rugby  and  Cambridge,  he  was  just 
entering  public  life.  His  chateau  was  in  the  Depart- 
ment of  the  Aisne  and  he  was  sent  from  there  to  the 
National  Assembly.  Two  years  later  he  was  ap- 
pointed Minister  of  Public  Instruction,  and  in  Jan- 
uary, 1876,  he  was  elected  Senator  from  the  Aisne. 
In  December  of  the  following  year  he  once  more  en- 
tered the  Cabinet  as  Minister  of  Public  Instruction, 
later  accepting  the  portfolio  for  Foreign  Affairs. 

During  this  period,  of  course,  Madame  Wadding- 
ton lived  the  brilliant  social  and  political  life  of  the 
capital.  M.  Waddington  began  his  diplomatic  career 
in  1878  as  the  first  Plenipotentiary  of  France  to  the 


MADAME  WADDINGTON  121 

Congress  of  Berlin.  In  1883  he  was  sent  as  Ambas- 
sador Extraordinary  to  represent  France  at  the  coro- 
nation of  Alexander  III ;  and  it  was  then  that  Madame 
Waddington  began  to  send  history  through  the  dip- 
lomatic pouch,  and  sow  the  seeds  of  that  post-career 
which  comes  to  so  few  widows  of  public  men. 

Madame  Waddington's  letters  from  Russia,  and 
later  from  England  where  her  husband  was  Ambas- 
sador from  1883  to  1893  are  now  so  famous,  being 
probably  in  every  private  library  of  any  pretensions, 
that  it  would  be  a  waste  of  space  to  give  an  extended 
notice  of  them  in  a  book  which  has  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  the  achievements  of  its  heroines  in  art  and 
letters  in  that  vast  almost- forgotten  period,  Before  the 
War.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  they  are  among  the  most 
delightful  epistolary  contributions  to  modern  litera- 
ture, the  more  so  perhaps  as  they  were  written  with- 
out a  thought  of  future  publication.  But  being  a  born 
woman  of  letters,  every  line  she  writes  has  the  elusive 
qualities  of  style  and  charm;  and  she  has  besides  the 
selective  gift  of  putting  down  on  paper  even  to  her 
own  family  only  what  is  worth  recording. 

When  these  letters  were  published  in  Scribner's 
Magazine  in  1902,  eight  years  after  M.  Waddington's 
death,  they  gave  her  an  instant  position  in  the  world 
of  letters,  which  must  have  consoled  her  for  the  loss 
of  that  glittering  diplomatic  life  she  had  enjoyed  for 
so  many  years. 

Not  that  Madame  Waddington  had  ever  dropped 
out  of  society,  except  during  the  inevitable  period  of 


122  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

mourning.  In  Paris  up  to  the  outbreak  of  the  war  she 
was  always  in  demand,  particularly  in  diplomatic  cir- 
cles, by  far  the  most  interesting  and  kaleidoscopic  in 
the  European  capitals.  I  was  told  that  she  never  paid 
a  visit  to  England  without  finding  an  invitation  from 
the  King  and  Queen  at  her  hotel,  as  well  as  a  peck  of 
other  invitations. 

I  do  not  think  Madame  Waddington  has  ever  been 
wealthy  in  our  sense  of  the  word.  But,  as  I  said  be- 
fore, her  career  is  a  striking  example  of  that  most 
precious  of  all  gifts,  personality.  And  if  she  lives 
until  ninety  she  will  always  be  in  social  demand,  for 
she  is  what  is  known  as  "good  company."  She  listens 
to  you  but  you  would  far  rather  listen  to  her.  Unlike 
many  women  of  distinguished  pasts  she  lives  in  hers 
very  little.  It  is  difficult  to  induce  the  reminiscent 
mood.  She  lives  intensely  in  the  present  and  her 
mind  works  insatiably  upon  everything  in  current  life 
that  is  worth  while. 

She  has  no  vanity.  Unlike  many  ladies  of  her  age 
and  degree  in  Paris  she  does  not  wear  a  red-brown 
wig,  but  her  own  abundant  hair,  as  soft  and  white  as 
cotton  and  not  a  "gray"  hair  in  it.  She  is  now  too 
much  absorbed  in  the  war  to  waste  time  at  her  dress- 
makers or  even  to  care  whether  her  placket-hole  is 
open  or  not.  I  doubt  if  she  ever  did  care  much  about 
dress  or  "keeping  young,"  for  those  are  instincts  that 
sleep  only  in  the  grave.  War  or  no  war  they  are  as 
much  a  part  of  the  daily  habit  as  the  morning  bath. 


MADAME  WADDINGTON  123 

I  saw  abundant  evidence  of  this  immortal  fact  in  Paris 
during  the  second  summer  of  the  war. 

Nevertheless,  the  moment  Madame  Waddington 
enters  a  room  she  seems  to  charge  it  with  electricity. 
You  see  no  one  else  and  you  are  impatient  when 
others  insist  upon  talking.  Vitality,  an  immense  intel- 
ligence without  arrogance  or  self-conceit,  a  courtesy 
which  has  no  relation  to  diplomatic  caution,  a  kindly 
tact  and  an  unmistakable  integrity,  combine  to  make 
Madame  Waddington  one  of  the  most  popular  women 
in  Europe. 

II 

This  brings  me  to  Madame  Waddington's  fourth 
career.  The  war  which  has  lifted  so  many  people  out 
of  obscurity,  rejuvenated  a  few  dying  talents,  and 
given  thousands  their  first  opportunity  to  be  useful, 
simply  overwhelmed  Madame  Waddington  with  hard 
work  and  a  multitude  of  new  duties.  If  she  had  in- 
dulged in  dreams  of  spending  the  rest  of  her  days  in 
the  peaceful  paths  of  literature  when  not  dining  out, 
they  were  rudely  dissipated  on  August  1st,  1914. 

Madame  Waddington  opened  the  Ouvroir  Holo- 
phane  on  the  i5th  of  August,  her  first  object  being  to 
give  employment  and  so  countercheck  the  double 
menace  of  starvation  and  haunted  idleness  for  at  least 
fifty  poor  women:  teachers,  music-mistresses,  seam- 
stresses, lace  makers,  women  of  all  ages  and  conditions 
abruptly  thrown  out  of  work. 

Madame  Waddington,  speaking  of  them,  said :  "We 


124  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

had  such  piteous  cases  of  perfectly  well-dressed,  well- 
educated,  gently-bred  women  that  we  hardly  dared 
offer  them  the  one-franc-fifty  and  'gouter'  (bowl  of 
cafe-au-lait  with  bread  and  butter),  which  was  all  we 
were  able  to  give  for  four  hours'  work  in  the  after- 
noon." 

However,  those  poor  women  were  very  thankful  for 
the  work  and  sewed  faithfully  on  sleeping-suits  and 
underclothing  for  poilus  in  the  trenches  and  hospitals. 
Madame  Waddington's  friends  in  America  responded 
to  her  call  for  help  and  M.  Mygatt  gave  her  rooms  on 
the  ground  floor  of  his  building  in  the  Boulevard 
Haussmann. 

When  the  Germans  were  rushing  on  Paris  and  in- 
vasion seemed  as  inevitable  as  the  horrors  that  were 
bound  to  follow,  Mr.  Herrick  insisted  that  Madame 
Waddington  and  her  sister  Miss  King,  who  was  al- 
most helpless  from  rheumatism,  follow  the  Govern- 
ment to  the  South.  This  Madame  Waddington  re- 
luctantly did,  but  returned  immediately  after  the  Battle 
of  the  Marne. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  Ouvroir  Holophane  out- 
grew its  original  proportions,  and  instead  of  the 
women  coming  there  daily  to  sew,  they  called  only 
for  materials  to  make  up  at  home.  For  this  ouvroir 
(if  it  has  managed  to  exist  in  these  days  of  decreas- 
ing donations)  sends  to  the  Front  garments  of  all 
sorts  for  soldiers  ill  or  well,  pillow-cases,  sheets,  sleep- 
ing-bags, slippers. 

Moreover,  as  soon  as  the  men  began  to  come  home 


MADAME  WADDINGTON  125 

on  their  six  days'  leave  they  found  their  way  to  the 
generous  ouvroir  on  the  Boulevard  Haussmann,  where 
Madame  Waddington,  or  her  friend  Mrs.  Greene 
(also  an  American),  or  Madame  Mygatt,  always  gave 
the  poor  men  what  they  needed  to  replace  their  tat- 
tered (or  missing)  undergarments,  as  well  as  coffee 
and  bread  and  butter. 

The  most  difficult  women  to  employ  were  those 
who  had  been  accustomed  to  make  embroidery  and 
lace,  as  well  as  many  who  had  led  pampered  lives  in  a 
small  way  and  did  not  know  how  to  sew  at  all.  But 
one-franc-fifty  stood  between  them  and  starvation  and 
they  learned.  To-day  nearly  all  of  the  younger  women 
assisted  by  those  first  ouvroirs  are  more  profitably 
employed.  France  has  adjusted  itself  to  a  state  of  war 
and  thousands  of  women  are  either  in  Government 
service  and  munition  factories,  or  in  the  reopened 
shops  and  restaurants. 

in 

The  Waddingtons  being  the  great  people  of  their 
district  were,  of  course,  looked  upon  by  the  peasant 
farmers  and  villagers  as  aristocrats  of  illimitable 
wealth.  Therefore  when  the  full  force  of  the  war 
struck  these  poor  people — they  were  in  the  path  of  the 
Germans  during  the  advance  on  Paris,  and  ruthlessly 
treated — they  looked  to  Madame  Waddington  and  her 
daughter,  Madame  Francis  Waddington,  to  put  them 
on  their  feet  again. 

Francis    Waddington,    to   whom    the   chateau   de- 


126  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

scended,  was  in  the  trenches,  but  his  mother  and  wife 
did  all  they  could,  as  soon  as  the  Germans  had  been 
driven  back,  to  relieve  the  necessities  of  the  dazed  and 
miserable  creatures  whose  farms  had  been  devastated 
and  shops  rifled  or  razed.  Some  time,  by  the  way, 
Madame  Waddington  may  tell  the  dramatic  story  of 
her  daughter-in-law's  escape.  She  was  alone  in  the 
chateau  with  her  two  little  boys  when  the  Mayor  of 
the  nearest  village  dashed  up  with  the  warning  that 
the  Germans  were  six  kilometers  away,  and  the  last 
train  was  about  to  leave. 

She  had  two  automobiles,  but  her  chauffeur  had 
been  mobilized  and  there  was  no  petrol.  She  was 
dressed  for  dinner,  but  there  was  no  time  to  change. 
She  threw  on  a  cloak  and  thinking  of  nothing  but  her 
children  went  off  with  the  Mayor  in  hot  haste  to  catch 
the  train.  From  that  moment  on  for  five  or  six  days, 
during  which  time  she  never  took  off  her  high-heeled 
slippers  with  their  diamond  buckles,  until  she  reached 
her  husband  in  the  North,  her  experience  was  one  of 
the  side  dramas  of  the  war. 

I  think  it  was  early  in  1915  that  Madame  Wadding- 
ton  wrote  in  Scribner's  Magazine  a  description  of  her 
son's  chateau  as  it  was  after  the  Germans  had  evacu- 
ated it.  But  the  half  was  not  told.  It  never  can  be, 
in  print.  Madame  Huard,  in  her  book,  My  Home  on 
the  Field  of  Honor,  is  franker  than  most  of  the  cur- 
rent historians  have  dared  to  be,  and  the  conditions 
which  she  too  found  when  she  returned  after  the 
German  retreat  may  be  regarded  as  the  prototype  of 


MADAME  WADDINGTON  127 

the  disgraceful  and  disgusting  state  in  which  these 
lovely  country  homes  of  the  French  were  left;  not  by 
lawless  German  soldiers  but  by  officers  of  the  first 
rank.  Madame  Francis  Waddington  did  not  even  run 
upstairs  to  snatch  her  jewel  case,  and  of  course  she 
never  saw  it  again.  Her  dresses  had  been  taken  from 
the  wardrobes  and  slashed  from  top  to  hem  by  the 
swords  of  these  incomprehensible  barbarians.  The 
most  valuable  books  in  the  library  were  gutted.  But 
these  outrages  are  almost  too  mild  to  mention. 

IV 

The  next  task  after  the  city  ouvroir  was  in  running 
order  wds  to  teach  the  countrywomen  how  to  sew  for 
the  soldiers  and  pay  them  for  their  work.  The  region 
of  the  Aisne  is  agricultural  where  it  is  not  heavily 
wooded.  Few  of  the  women  had  any  skill  with  the 
needle.  The  two  Madame  Waddingtons  concluded  to 
show  these  poor  women  with  their  coarse  red  hands 
how  to  knit  until  their  fingers  grew  more  supple.  This 
they  took  to  very  kindly,  knitting  jerseys  and  socks; 
and  since  those  early  days  both  the  Paris  and  country 
ouvroirs  had  sent  (June,  1916)  twenty  thousand  pack- 
ages to  the  soldiers.  Each  package  contained  a  flannel 
shirt,  drawers,  stomach  band,  waistcoat  or  jersey,  two 
pairs  of  socks,  two  handkerchiefs,  a  towel,  a  piece  of 
soap.  Any  donations  of  tobacco  or  rolled  cigarettes 
also  included. 

This  burden  in  the  country  has  been  augmented 


128  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

heavily  by  refugees  from  the  invaded  districts.  Of 
course  they  come  no  more  these  days,  but  while  I  was 
in  Paris  they  were  still  pouring  down,  and  as  the 
Waddington  estate  was  often  in  their  line  of  march 
they  simply  camped  in  the  park  and  in  the  garage. 
Of  course  they  had  to  be  clothed,  fed,  and  generally 
assisted. 

As  Madame  Waddmgton's  is  not  ©ne  of  the  pic- 
turesque ouvroirs  she  has  found  it  difficult  to  keep  it 
going,  and  no  doubt  contributes  all  she  can  spare  of 
what  the  war  has  left  of  her  own  income.  Moreover, 
she  is  on  practically  every  important  war  relief  com- 
mittee, sometimes  as  honorary  president,  for  her  name 
carries  great  weight,  often  as  vice-president  or  as  a 
member  of  the  "conseil."  After  her  ouvroirs  the 
most  important  organization  of  which  she  is  president 
is  the  Comite  International  de  Pansements  Chirurgi- 
caux  des  Etats  Unis — in  other  words,  surgical  dress- 
ings— started  by  Mrs.  Willard,  and  run  actively  in 
Paris  by  Mrs.  Austin,  the  vice-president.  When  I  vis- 
ited it  they  were  serving  about  seven  hundred  hos- 
pitals, and  no  doubt  by  this  time  are  supplying  twice 
that  number.  Two  floors  of  a  new  apartment  house 
had  been  put  at  their  disposal  near  the  Bois,  and  the 
activity  and  shining  whiteness  were  the  last  word  in 
modern  proficiency  (I  shall  never  use  that  black-sheep 
among  words,  efficiency,  again). 

One  of  Madame  Waddington's  more  personal 
ceuvres  is  the  amusement  she,  in  company  with  her 
daughter-in-law,  provides  for  the  poilus  in  the  village 


MADAME  WADDINGTON  129 

near  her  son's  estate.  Regiments  are  quartered  there, 
either  to  hold  themselves  in  readiness,  or  to  cut  down 
trees  for  the  army.  They  wandered  about,  desolate 
and  bored,  until  the  two  Madame  Waddingtons  fur- 
nished a  reading-room,  provided  with  letter  paper  and 
post-cards,  books  and,  I  hope,  by  this  time  a  gramo- 
phone. Here  they  sit  and  smoke,  read,  or  get  up 
little  plays.  As  the  chateau  is  now  occupied  by  the 
staff  the  two  patronesses  are  obliged  to  go  back  and 
forth  from  Paris,  and  this  they  do  once  a  week  at 
least. 


Madame  Waddington,  knowing  that  I  was  very 
anxious  to  see  one  of  the  cantines  at  the  railway  sta- 
tions about  which  so  much  was  said,  took  me  late  one 
afternoon  to  St.  Lazare.  Into  this  great  station,  as 
into  all  the  others,  train  after  train  hourly  gives  up 
its  load  of  permissionnaires — men  home  on  their  six 
days'  leave — ;  men  for  the  eclope  stations;  men  from 
shattered  regiments,  to  be  held  at  Le  Bourget  until 
the  time  comes  to  be  sent  to  fill  other  gaps  made  by 
the  German  guns ;  men  who  merely  arrive  by  one  train 
to  take  another  out,  but  who  must  frequently  remain 
for  several  hours  in  the  depot. 

I  have  never  entered  one  of  these  gores  to  take  a 
train  that  I  have  not  seen  hundreds  of  soldiers  enter- 
ing, leaving,  waiting;  sometimes  lying  asleep  on  the 
hard  floor,  always  on  the  benches.  It  is  for  all  who 


130  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

choose  to  take  advantage  of  them  that  these  cantines 
are  run,  and  they  are  open  day  and  night. 

The  one  in  St.  Lazare  had  been  organized  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1915,  by  the  Baronne  de  Berckheim  (born 
Pourtales)  and  was  still  run  by  her  in  person  when  I 
visited  it  in  June,  1916.  During  that  time  she  and 
her  staff  had  taken  care  of  over  two  hundred  thou- 
sand soldiers.  From  8  to  1 1  A.  M.  cafe-au-lait,  or 
cafe  noir,  or  bouillon,  pate  de  foie  or  cheese  is  served. 
From  1 1  to  2  and  from  6  to  9,  bouillon,  a  plate  of  meat 
and  vegetables,  salad,  cheese,  fruits  or  compote,  coffee, 
a  quart  of  wine  or  beer,  cigarettes.  From  2  to  6  and 
after  9  p.  M.,  bouillon,  coffee,  tea,  pate,  cheese,  milk, 
lemonade,  cocoa. 

The  rooms  in  the  station  are  a  donation  by  the  offi- 
cials, of  course.  The  dining-room  of  the  St.  Lazare 
cantine  was  fitted  up  with  several  long  tables,  before 
which,  when  we  arrived,  every  square  inch  of  the 
benches  was  occupied  by  poilus  enjoying  an  excellent 
meal  of  which  beef  a  la  mode  was  the  piece  de  resist- 
ance. The  Baroness  Berckheim  and  the  young  girls 
helping  her  wore  the  Red  Cross  uniform,  and  they 
served  the  needs  of  the  tired  and  hungry  soldiers  with 
a  humble  devotion  that  nothing  but  war  and  its  awful 
possibilities  can  inspire.  It  was  these  nameless  men 
who  were  saving  not  only  France  from  the  most  brutal 
enemy  of  modern  times  but  the  honor  of  thousands 
of  such  beautiful  and  fastidious  young  women  as 
these.  No  wonder  they  were  willing  and  grateful  to 
stand  until  they  dropped. 


MADAME  WADDINGTON  131 

It  was  evident,  however,  that  their  imagination 
carried  them  beyond  man's  interiorities.  The  walls 
were  charmingly  decorated  not  only  with  pictures  of 
the  heroes  of  the  war  but  with  the  colored  supple- 
ments of  the  great  weekly  magazines  which  pursue 
their  even  and  welcome  way  in  spite  of  the  war. 
Above  there  were  flags  and  banners,  and  the  lights 
were  very  bright.  Altogether  there  was  no  restaurant 
in  Paris  more  cheerful — or  more  exquisitely  neat  in 
its  kitchen.  I  went  behind  and  saw  the  great  roasts 
in  their  shining  pans,  the  splendid  loaves  of  bread,  the 
piles  of  clean  dishes.  Not  a  spot  of  grease  in  those 
crowded  quarters.  In  a  corner  the  President  of  the 
Chamber  of  Commerce  was  cashier  for  the  night. 

Adjoining  was  a  rest-room  with  six  or  eight  beds, 
and  a  lavatory  large  enough  for  several  men  simulta- 
neously to  wash  off  the  dust  of  their  long  journey. 

These  cantines  are  supported  by  collections  taken 
up  on  trains.  On  any  train  between  Paris  and  any 
point  in  France  outside  of  the  War  Zone  girls  in  the 
uniform  of  the  Croix  Rouge  appear  at  every  stop  and 
shake  a  box  at  you.  They  are  wooden  boxes,  with  a 
little  slit  at  the  top.  As  I  have  myself  seen  people 
slipping  in  coppers  and,  no  doubt,  receiving  the  credit 
from  other  passengers  of  donating  francs,  I  suggested 
that  these  young  cadets  of  the  Red  Cross  would  add 
heavily  to  their  day's  toll  if  they  passed  round  open 
plates.  Certainly  no  one  would  dare  contribute  copper 
under  the  sharp  eyes  of  his  fellows.  This,  I  was  told, 


132  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

was  against  the  law,  but  that  it  might  be  found  prac- 
ticable to  use  glass  boxes. 

In  any  case  the  gains  are  enough  to  run  these  can- 
tines.  The  girls  are  almost  always  good  looking  and 
well  bred,  and  they  look  very  serious  in  their  white 
uniform  with  the  red  cross  on  the  sleeves;  and  the 
psychotherapeutic  influence  is  too  strong  for  any  one 
to  resist. 

Madame  Waddington  had  brought  a  large  box  of 
chocolates  and  she  passed  a  piece  over  the  shoulder 
of  each  soldier,  who  interrupted  the  more  serious  busi- 
ness of  the  moment  to  be  polite.  Other  people  bring 
them  flowers,  or  cigarettes,  and  certainly  there  is  no 
one  in  the  world  so  satisfactory  to  put  one's  self  to 
any  effort  for  as  a  poilu.  On  her  manners  alone 
France  should  win  her  war. 


X 

THE  COUNTESS  D'HAUSSONVILLE* 


MADAME  LA  COMTESSE  D'HAUSSON- 
VILLE, it  is  generally  conceded,  is  not  only 
the  greatest  lady  in  France  but  stands  at  the  very  head 
of  all  women  working  for  the  public  welfare  in  her 
country.  That  is  saying  a  great  deal,  particularly  at 
this  moment. 

Madame  d'Haussonville  is  President  of  the  first,  or 
noblesse,  division  of  the  Red  Cross,  which,  like  the 
two  others,  has  a  title  as  distinct  as  the  social  status 
of  the  ladies  who  command,  with  diminishing  degrees 
of  pomp  and  power. 

Societe  Franchise  de  Secours  aux  Blesses  Militaires 
is  the  name  of  the  crack  regiment. 

The  second  division,  presided  over  by  Madame 
Carnot,  leader  of  the  grande  bourgeoisie,  calls  itself 
Association  des  Dames  Frangaises,  and  embraces  all 

*  Naturally  this  should  have  been  the  first  chapter,  both  on 
account  of  the  importance  of  the  work  and  the  position  of 
Madame  d'Haussonville  among  the  women  of  France,  but 
unfortunately  the  necessary  details  did  not  come  until  the 
book  was  almost  ready  for  press. 

133 


134  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

the  charitably  disposed  of  that  haughty  and  powerful 
body. 

The  third,  operated  by  Madame  Perouse,  and  com- 
posed of  able  and  useful  women  whom  fate  has  planted 
in  a  somewhat  inferior  social  sphere — in  many  social 
spheres,  for  that  matter — has  been  named  (note  the 
significance  of  the  differentiating  noun)  Union  des 
Femmes  de  France. 

Between  these  three  useful  and  admirable  organiza- 
tions there  is  no  love  lost  whatever.  That  is  to  say, 
in  reasonably  normal  conditions.  No  doubt  in  that 
terrible  region  just  behind  the  lines  they  sink  all  dif- 
ferences and  pull  together  for  the  common  purpose. 

The  Red  Cross  was  too  old  and  too  taken- for- 
granted  an  organization,  and  too  like  our  own,  for  all 
I  knew  to  the  contrary,  to  tempt  me  to  give  it  any  of 
the  limited  time  at  my  disposal  in  France;  so,  as  it 
happened,  of  these  three  distinguished  chiefs  the  only 
one  I  met  was  Madame  d'Haussonville. 

She  interested  me  intensely,  not  only  because  she 
stood  at  the  head  of  the  greatest  relief  organization  in 
the  world,  but  because  she  is  one  of  the  very  few 
women,  of  her  age,  at  least,  who  not  only  is  a  great 
lady  but  looks  the  role. 

European  women  tend  to  coarseness,  not  to  say 
commonness,  as  they  advance  in  age,  no  matter  what 
their  rank;  their  cheeks  sag  and  broaden,  and  their 
stomachs  contract  a  fatal  and  permanent  entente  with 
their  busts.  Too  busy  or  too  indifferent  to  charge 
spiteful  nature  with  the  daily  counter-attacks  of  art, 


COUNTESS  D'HAUSSONVILLE       135 

they  put  on  a  red-brown  wig  (generally  sideways)  and 
let  it  go  at  that.  Sometimes  they  smudge  their  eye- 
brows with  a  pomade  which  gives  that  extinct  member 
the  look  of  being  neither  hair,  skin,  nor  art,  but  they 
contemptuously  reject  rouge  or  even  powder.  When 
they  have  not  altogether  discarded  the  follies  or  the 
ennui  of  dress,  but  patronize  their  modiste  conscien- 
tiously, they  have  that  "built  up  look"  peculiar  to  those 
uncompromisingly  respectable  women  of  the  first  so- 
ciety in  our  own  land,  who  frown  upon  the  merely 
smart. 

It  is  only  the  young  women  of  fashion  in  France 
who  make  up  lips,  brows,  and  cheeks,  as  well  as  hair 
and  earlobes,  who  often  look  like  young  clowns,  and 
whose  years  give  them  no  excuse  for  making  up  be- 
yond subservience  to  the  mode  of  the  hour. 

It  is  even  sadder  when  they  are  emulated  by  ambi- 
tious ladies  in  the  provinces.  I  went  one  day  to  a 
great  concert — given  for  charity,  of  course — in  a 
town  not  far  from  Paris.  The  Mayor  presided 
and  his  wife  was  with  him.  As  I  had  been  taken 
out  from  Paris  by  one  of  the  Patrons  I  sat  in  the  box 
with  this  very  well-dressed  and  important  young 
woman,  and  she  fascinated  me  so  that  I  should  have 
feared  to  appear  rude  if  she  had  not  been  far  too 
taken  up  with  the  titled  women  from  Paris,  whom  she 
was  meeting  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  to  pay  any 
attention  to  a  mere  American. 

She  may  have  been  twenty-eight,  certainly  not  over 
thirty,  but  she  had  only  one  front  tooth.  It  was  a 


136  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

very  large  tooth  and  it  stuck  straight  out  Her  lips 
were  painted  an  energetic  vermillion.  Her  mouth  too 
was  large,  and  it  spread  across  her  dead  white  (and 
homely)  face  like  a  malignant  sore.  She  smiled  con- 
stantly— it  was  her  role  to  be  gracious  to  all  these 
duchesses  and  ambassadresses — and  that  solitary  tooth 
darted  forward  like  a  sentinel  on  a  bridge  in  the  War 
Zone.  But  I  envied  her.  She  was  so  happy.  So  im- 
portant. I  never  met  anybody  who  made  me  feel  so 
insignificant. 

ii 

Madame  d'Haussonville  naturally  suggests  to  the 
chronicler  the  sharpest  sort  of  contrasts. 

I  am  told  that  she  devoted  herself  to  the  world  until 
the  age  of  fifty,  and  she  wielded  a  power  and  received 
a  measure  of  adulation  from  both  sexes  that  made  her 
the  most  formidable  social  power  in  France.  But  the 
De  Broglies  are  a  serious  family,  as  their  record  in 
history  proves.  Madame  d'Haussonville,  without  re- 
nouncing her  place  in  the  world  of  fashion,  devoted 
herself  more  and  more  to  good  works,  her  superior 
brain  and  executive  abilities  forcing  her  from  year  to 
year  into  positions  of  heavier  responsibility. 

I  was  told  that  she  was  now  seventy;  but  she  is  a 
woman  whose  personality  is  so  compelling  that  she 
rouses  none  of  the  usual  vulgar  curiosity  as  to  the 
number  of  years  she  may  have  lingered  on  this  planet. 
You  see  Madame  d'Haussonville  as  she  is  and  take 


COUNTESS  D'HAUSSONVILLE       137 

not  the  least  interest  in  what  she  may  have  been  dur- 
ing the  years  before  you  happened  to  meet  her. 

Very  tall  and  slender  and  round  and  straight,  her 
figure  could  hardly  haVe  been  more  perfect  at  the  age 
of  thirty.  The  poise  of  her  head  is  very  haughty  and 
the  nostril  of  her  fine  French  nose  is  arched  and  thin. 
She  wears  no  make-up  whatever,  and,  however  plainly 
she  may  feel  it  her  duty  to  dress  in  these  days,  her 
clothes  are  cut  by  a  master  and  an  excessively  modern 
one  at  that;  there  is  none  of  the  Victorian  built-up 
effect,  to  which  our  own  grandes  dames  cling  as  to 
the  rock  of  ages,  about  Madame  d'Haussonville.  Her 
waist  line  is  in  its  proper  place — she  does  not  go  to 
the  opposite  extreme  and  drag  it  down  to  her  knees — 
and  one  feels  reasonably  sure  that  it  will  be  there  at 
the  age  of  ninety — presupposing  that  the  unthinkable 
amount  of  hard  work  she  accomplishes  daily  during 
this  period  of  her  country's  crucifixion  shall  not  have 
devoured  the  last  of  her  energies  long  before  she  is 
able  to  enter  the  peaceful  haven  of  old  age. 

She  is  in  her  offices  at  the  Red  Cross  headquarters 
in  the  Rue  Francois  ier  early  and  late,  leaving  them 
only  to  visit  hospitals  or  sit  on  some  one  of  the  in- 
numerable committees  where  her  advice  is  imperative, 
during  the  organizing  period  at  least. 

Some  time  ago  I  wrote  to  Madame  d'Haussonville, 
asking  her  if  she  would  dictate  a  few  notes  about  her 
work  in  the  Red  Cross,  and  as  she  wrote  a  very  full 
letter  in  reply,  I  cannot  do  better  than  quote  it,  par- 


138  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

ticularly  as  it  gives  a  far  more  comprehensive  idea  of 
her  personality  than  any  words  of  mine. 

"PARIS,  March  28th,  1917. 
"DEAR  MRS.  ATHERTON: 

"I  am  very  much  touched  by  your  gracious  letter 
and  very  happy  if  I  can  serve  you. 

"Here  are  some  notes  about  our  work,  and  about 
what  I  have  seen  since  August,  1914.  All  our 
thoughts  and  all  our  strength  are  in  the  great  task, 
that  of  all  French  women,  to  aid  the  wounded,  the 
ill,  those  who  remain  invalids,  the  refugees  of  the 
invaded  districts,  all  the  sufferings  actually  due  to 
these  cruel  days. 

"Some  weeks  before  the  war,  I  was  called  to  the 
ministry,  where  they  asked  me  to  have  two  hundred 
infirmaries  ready  for  all  possible  happenings.  We  had 
already  established  a  great  number,  of  which  many 
had  gone  to  Morocco  and  into  the  Colonies.  To-day 
there  are  fifteen  or  sixteen  thousand  volunteer  nurses 
to  whom  are  added  about  eleven  thousand  auxiliaries 
used  in  accessory  service  (kitchen,  bandages,  steriliza- 
tion, etc.)  and  also  assisting  in  the  wards  of  the  ill 
and  the  wounded. 

"To  the  hospitals  there  have  been  added  since  the 
month  of  August,  1914,  the  infirmaries  and  station 
cantines  where  our  soldiers  receive  the  nourishment 
and  hot  drinks  which  are  necessary  for  their  long 
journeys. 

"At  Amiens,  for  instance,  the  cantine,  an  annex  of 


COUNTESS  D'HAUSSONVILLE       139 

the  station  infirmary  began  with  the  distribution  of 
slices  of  bread  and  drinks  made  by  our  women  as  the 
trains  arrived.  Then  a  big  room  used  for  baggage 
was  given  to  us.  A  dormitory  was  made  of  it  for 
tired  soldiers,  also  a  reading-room.  At  any  hour 
French,  English  or  Belgians  may  receive  a  good  meal 
— soup,  one  kind  of  meat  and  vegetables,  coffee  or 
tea.  Civil  refugees  are  received  there  and  constantly 
aided  and  fed. 

"Our  nurses  attend  to  all  wants,  and  above  every- 
thing they  believe  in  putting  their  hearts  into  their 
work  administering  to  those  who  suffer  with  the 
tenderness  of  a  mother.  In  the  hospital  wards  noth- 
ing touched  me  more  than  to  see  the  thousand  little 
kindnesses  which  they  gave  to  the  wounded,  the  dis- 
tractions which  they  sought  to  procure  for  them 
each  day. 

"In  our  great  work  of  organization  at  the  Bureau 
on  Rue  Frangois  ier,  I  have  met  the  most  beautiful 
devotion.  Our  nurses  do  not  hesitate  at  contagion, 
nor  at  bombardments,  and  I  know  some  of  your  com- 
patriots (that  I  can  never  admire  enough),  who  ex- 
pose themselves  to  the  same  dangers  with  hearts  full 
of  courage. 

"I  have  visited  the  hospitals  nearest  the  Front,  Dun- 
kerque,  so  cruelly  shelled.  I  have  been  to  Alsace,  to 
Lorraine,  then  to  Verdun  from  where  I  brought  back 
the  most  beautiful  impression  of  calm  courage. 

"Here  are  some  details  which  may  interest  your 
compatriots : 


140  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

"June  1916.  My  first  stop  was  at  Chalons,  where 
with  Mme.  Terneaux-Compans  our  devoted  senior 
nurse,  I  visited  the  hospital  Corbineau,  former  quar- 
ters for  the  cavalry,  very  well  reconstructed  by  the 
Service  de  Sante,  for  sick  soldiers;  our  nurses  are 
doing  service  there;  generous  gifts  have  enabled  us  to 
procure  a  small  motor  which  carries  water  to  the  three 
stories,  and  we  have  been  able  to  install  baths  for  the 
typhoid  patients. 

"At  the  hospital  Forgeot  (for  the  officers)  I  ad- 
mired the  ingeniousness  with  which  our  nurses  have 
arranged  for  their  wounded  a  quite  charming  assem- 
bly-room with  a  piano,  some  growing  plants  and  sev- 
eral games. 

"I  also  visited  our  auxiliary  hospital  at  Sainte- 
Croix.  It  would  be  impossible  to  find  a  more  beau- 
tiful location,  a  better  organization.  I  have  not  had, 
to  my  great  regret,  the  time  to  visit  the  other  hos- 
pitals, which,  however,  I  already  know.  That  will  be, 
I  hope,  for  another  time. 

"The  same  day  I  went  to  Revigny.  Oh,  never  shall 
I  forget  the  impressions  that  I  received  there.  First, 
the  passage  through  that  poor  village  in  ruins,  then 
the  visit  to  the  hospital  situated  near  the  station 
through  which  most  of  the  wounded  from  Verdun 
pass. 

"What  was,  several  months  ago,  a  field  at  the  edge 
of  the  road,  has  become  one  big  hospital  of  more  than 
a  thousand  beds,  divided  into  baraques.  We  have 
twenty-five  nurses  there.  Since  the  beginning  of  the 


COUNTESS  D'HAUSSONVILLE       141 

battle  they  have  been  subjected  to  frightful  work; 
every  one  has  to  care  for  a  number  of  critically 
wounded — those  who  have  need  of  operations  and 
who  are  not  able  to  travel  further.  What  moved  me 
above  everything  was  to  find  our  nurses  so  simple 
and  so  modest  in  their  courage.  Not  a  single  com- 
plaint about  their  terrible  fatigue — their  one  desire 
is  to  hold  out  to  the  end.  When  I  expressed  my  ad- 
miration, one  of  them  answered:  'We  have  only  one 
regret :  it  is  that  we  have  too  much  work  to  give 
special  attention  to  each  of  the  wounded,  and  then 
above  all  it  is  terrible  to  see  so  many  die.' 

"I  visited  some  of  the  baraques,  and  I  observed  that, 
in  spite  of  the  excessive  work,  they  were  not  only 
clean  but  well  cared  for,  and  flowers  everywhere!  I 
also  saw  a  tent  where  there  were  about  ten  Germans ; 
one  of  our  nurses  who  spoke  their  language  was  in 
charge;  they  seemed  to  me  very  well  taken  care  of — 
'well,'  because  they  were  wounded,  not  'too  well'  be- 
cause— we  cannot  forget. 

"I  tore  myself  away  from  Revigny,  where  I  should 
have  liked  to  remain  longer,  and  I  arrived  that  night 
at  Jeans  d'Heurs,  which  seemed  to  me  a  small  paradise. 
The  wounded  were  admirably  cared  for  in  beautiful 
rooms,  with  windows  opening  on  a  ravishing  park; 
the  nurses  housed  with  the  greatest  care. 

"The  next  day  I  was  at  Bar-le-Duc,  first  at  the 
Central,  which  is  an  immense  hospital  of  three  thou- 
sand beds.  Before  the  war  it  was  a  caserne  (barrack). 
They  reconstructed  the  buildings  and  in  the  courts  they 


142  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

put  up  sheds;  our  nurses  are  at  work  there — among 
them  the  beloved  President  of  our  Association — the 
Mutual  Association  of  Nurses.  All  these  buildings 
seemed  to  me  perfect.  I  visited  specially  the  splendidly 
conducted  surgical  pavilion  and  the  typhoid  pavilion. 

"The  white-washed  walls  have  been  decorated  by 
direction  of  the  nurses  with  great  friezes  of  color, 
producing  a  charming  effect  which  ought  to  please  the 
eyes  of  our  beloved  sick. 

"I  visited  also  the  laboratory  where  they  showed 
me  the  chart  of  the  typhoid  patients — the  loss  so  high 
in  1914 — so  low  in  1915.  I  noted  down  some  figures 
which  I  give  here  for  those  who  are  interested  in  the 
question  of  anti-typhoid  vaccine:  In  November  1914, 
379  deaths.  In  November  1915,  22!  What  a  new 
and  wonderful  victory  for  French  science!  I  must 
add  that  three  of  our  nurses  have  contracted  typhoid 
fever;  none  of  them  was  inoculated;  twenty  who 
were  inoculated  caught  nothing. 

"While  we  were  making  this  visit,  we  heard  the 
whistle  which  announced  the  arrival  of  taubes — we 
wanted  very  much  to  remain  outside  to  see,  but  we 
were  ordered  to  go  in;  I  observed  that  our  nurses 
obeyed  the  order  because  of  discipline,  not  on  account 
of  fear.  'We  can  only  die  once!'  one  of  them  said  to 
me,  shrugging  her  shoulders.  Their  chief  concern  is 
for  the  poor  wounded.  Many  of  them  now  that  they 
are  in  bed,  powerless  to  defend  themselves,  become 
nervous  at  the  approach  of  danger.  They  have  to  be 


COUNTESS  D'HAUSSONVILLE       143 

reassured.  If  the  shelling  becomes  too  heavy,  they 
carry  them  down  into  the  cellars. 

"These  taubes  having  gone  back  this  time  without 
causing  any  damage,  we  set  off  for  Savonnieres,  a 
field  hospital  of  about  three  hundred  beds,  established 
in  a  little  park.  It  is  charming  in  summer,  it  may  be 
a  little  damp  in  winter,  but  the  nurses  do  not  com- 
plain; the  nurses  never  complain! 

"Saturday  was  the  most  interesting  day  of  my  trip. 
I  saw  two  field  hospitals  between  Bar-le-Duc  and 
Verdun.  Oh!  those  who  have  not  been  in  the  War 
Zone  cannot  imagine  the  impression  that  I  received 
on  the  route  which  leads  'out  there,'  toward  the  place 
where  the  greatest,  the  most  atrocious  struggle  that 
has  ever  been  is  going  on.  All  those  trucks  by  hun- 
dreds going  and  coming  from  Verdun;  those  poor 
men  breaking  stones,  ceaselessly  repairing  the  roads, 
the  aeroplane  bases,  the  depots  of  munitions,  above  all 
the  villages  filled  with  troops,  all  those  dear  little 
soldiers,  some  of  them  fresh  and  clean,  going,  the 
others  yellow  with  mud  returning — all  this  spectacle 
grips  and  thrills  you. 

"We  breakfasted  at  Chaumont-sur-Aire ;  I  cannot 
say  how  happy  I  was  to  share,  if  only  for  an  hour, 
the  life  of  our  dear  nurses!  Life  here  is  hard.  They 
are  lodged  among  the  natives  more  or  less  well.  They 
live  in  a  little  peasant's  room  near  a  stable;  they  eat 
the  food  of  the  wounded,  not  very  varied — 'boule' 
every  two  weeks.  How  they  welcomed  the  good  fresh 
bread  that  I  brought ! 


144  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

"Their  work  is  not  easy,  scattered  over  a  wide 
field;  tents,  and  barns  here  and  there,  and  then  they 
have  been  deprived  of  an  'autocher,'  which  had  to 
leave  for  some  other  destination. 

"Many  of  the  wounded  from  Verdun  come  there; 
and  what  wounded !  Never  shall  I  forget  the  fright- 
ful plight  of  one  unfortunate,  upon  whom  they  were 
going  to  operate  without  much  chance  of  success  alas. 
He  had  remained  nearly  four  days  without  aid,  and 
gangrene  had  done  its  work. 

"I  had  tears  in  my  eyes  watching  the  sleep  of  our 
heroes  who  had  arrived  that  morning  overcome  and 
wornout,  all  covered  with  dust;  I  would  have  liked 
to  put  them  in  good  beds,  all  white  with  soft  pillows 
under  their  heads.  Alas  in  these  hospitals  at  the  front, 
one  cannot  give  them  the  comfort  of  our  hospitals  in 
the  rear. 

"After  having  assisted  at  the  great  spectacle  of  a 
procession  of  taubes  going  toward  Bar-le-Duc,  I  was 
obliged  to  leave  Chaumont  to  go  to  Vadelaincourt, 
which  is  thirteen  kilometres  from  Verdun,  the  nearest 
point  of  our  infirmaries.  I  was  there  in  March  at  the 
beginning  of  the  battle. 

"What  wonderful  work  has  been  accomplished !  It 
is  not  for  me  to  judge  the  Service  de  Sante,  but  I 
cannot  help  observing  that  a  hospital  like  that  of 
Vadelaincourt  does  honor  to  the  head  doctor  who  or- 
ganized it  in  full  battle  in  the  midst  of  a  thousand 
difficulties.  It  is  very  simple,  very  practical,  very 
complete.  I  found  nurses  there  who  for  the  most 


COUNTESS  D'HAUSSONVILLE       145 

part  have  not  been  out  of  the  region  of  Verdun  since 
the  beginning  of  the  war.  Their  task  is  especially 
hard.  How  many  wounded  have  passed  through  their 
hands ;  how  have  they  been  able  to  overcome  all  their 
weariness?  It  is  a  pleasure  to  find  them  always  alert 
and  watchful;  I  admired  and  envied  them. 

"It  was  not  without  regret  that  I  turned  my  back 
on  this  region  whose  close  proximity  to  the  Front 
makes  one  thrill  with  emotion;  I  went  to  calmer 
places,  I  saw  less  thrilling  things,  but  nevertheless, 
interesting:  the  charming  layout  at  Void,  that  at 
Sorcy,  in  process  of  organizing,  the  grand  hospital 
of  Toul  which  was  shelled  by  taubes.  I  was  able  to 
see  the  enormous  hole  dug  by  the  bomb  which  fell 
very  near  the  building  that  sheltered  our  nurses,  who 
had  but  one  idea,  to  run  to  their  wounded  and  re- 
assure them. 

"I  visited  at  Nancy  a  very  beautiful  hospital,  the 
Malgrange,  which  is  almost  unique ;  it  is  the  Red  Cross 
which  houses  the  military  hospital.  At  the  instant  of 
bombardment,  most  of  the  hospitals  were  vacated; 
ours,  situated  outside  of  the  city,  gathered  in  the 
wounded  and  all  the  personnel  of  the  military  hos- 
pital, and  it  goes  very  well. 

"I  finished  my  journey  with  the  Vosges,  fipinal, 
Bel  fort,  Gerardmer,  Bussang,  Morvillars;  all  these 
hospitals  which  were  filled  for  a  long  time  with  the 
wounded  from  the  battles  of  the  Vosges  (especially 
our  brave  Alpines)  are  quiet  now. 

"If  I  congratulated  the  nurses   of  the  region  of 


146  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

Verdun  upon  their  endurance,  I  do  not  congratulate 
less  those  of  the  Vosges  upon  their  constancy;  Ge- 
rardmer  has  had  very  full  days — days  when  one  could 
not  take  a  thought  to  one's  self.  There  is  something 
painful,  in  a  way,  in  seeing  great  happenings  receding 
from  you.  We  do  not  hear  the  cannon  any  longer, 
the  wounded  arrive  more  rarely,  we  have  no  longer 
enough  to  do,  we  are  easily  discouraged,  we  should 
like  to  be  elsewhere  and  yet  one  must  remain  there 
at  his  post  ready  in  case  of  need,  which  may  come 
perhaps  when  it  is  least  expected. 

"I  shall  have  many  things  still  to  tell  you,  but  I  am 
going  to  resume  my  impressions  of  this  little  trip  in 
a  few  words. 

"I  have  been  filled  with  admiration.  The  word  has, 
I  believe,  fallen  many  times  from  my  pen,  and  it  will 
fall  again  and  again.  I  have  admired  our  dear 
wounded,  so  courageous  in  their  suffering,  so  gracious 
to  all  those  who  visit  them;  I  have  admired  the  doc- 
tors who  are  making  and  have  made  every  day,  such 
great  efforts  to  organize  and  to  better  conditions ;  and 
our  nurses  I  have  never  ceased  to  admire.  When  I 
see  them  I  find  them  just  as  I  hoped,  very  courageous 
and  also  very  simple.  They  speak  very  little  of  them- 
selves, and  a  great  deal  of  their  wounded;  they  com- 
plain very  little  of  their  fatigue,  sometimes  of  not 
having  enough  to  do.  They  always  meet  cheerfully 
the  material  difficulties  of  their  existence  as  they  do 
almost  always  the  moral  difficulties  which  are  even 
more  difficult.  Self-abnegation,  attention  to  their 


COUNTESS  D'HAUSSONVILLE       147 

duty,  seem  to  them  so  natural  that  one  scarcely  dares 
to  praise  them. 

"There  is  one  thing  that  I  must  praise  them  for 
particularly — that  they  always  seem  to  keep  the  beau- 
tiful charming  coquetry  that  belongs  to  every  woman. 
I  often  arrived  without  warning.  I  never  saw  hair 
disarranged  or  dress  neglected.  This  exterior  perfec- 
tion is,  I  may  say,  a  distinctive  mark  of  our  nurses. 

"And  then  I  like  the  care  with  which  they  decorate 
and  beautify  their  hospital.  Everywhere  flowers,  pic- 
tures, bits  of  stuff  to  drape  their  rooms.  At  Revigny 
in  one  of  the  baraques  I  saw  flowers,  simple  flowers 
gathered  in  the  neighboring  field,  so  prettily  arranged, 
portraits  of  our  generals  framed  in  green.  When  I 
complimented  a  nurse,  she  answered:  'Ah,  no;  it  is 
not  well  done;  but  I  hadn't  the  time  to  do  better.' 

"At  Vadelaincourt,  a  little  room  was  set  aside  for 
dressings,  all  done  in  white  with  curtains  of  white 
and  two  little  vases  of  flowers.  What  a  smiling  wel- 
come for  the  poor  wounded  who  come  there!  'The 
arrangement  of  a  room  has. a  great  deal  of  influence 
on  the  morale  of  the  wounded,'  a  doctor  said  to  me. 
All  this  delights  me ! 

"I  have  finished,  but  I  shall  think  for  a  long  time  of 
this  journey  which  has  left  in  my  memory  unfor- 
gettable sights  and  in  my  heart  very  tender  im- 
pressions. 

"In  the  Somme,  also,  our  nurses  have  worked  with 
indefatigable  ardor,  and  they  go  on  without  relaxa- 
tion. The  poor  refugees,  which  the  Germans  return 


148  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

to  us  often  sick  and  destitute  of  everything,  are  re- 
ceived and  comforted  by  our  women  of  the  Red  Cross. 

"The  three  societies  of  the  Red  Cross — our  Society 
for  the  Relief  of  the  Military  Wounded,  the  Union  of 
the  Women  of  France,  and  the  Association  of  the 
Ladies  of  France — work  side  by  side  under  the  di- 
rection of  the  Service  de  Sante. 

"Our  Society  for  the  Relief  of  the  Military 
Wounded  has  actually  about  seven  hundred  hospitals, 
which  represent  sixty  thousand  beds,  where  many 
nurses  are  occupied  from  morning  until  night,  and 
many  of  them  serve  also  at  the  military  hospital  at  the 
Front,  and  in  the  Orient  (three  to  four  thousand 
nurses). 

"Every  day  new  needs  make  us  create  new  ceuvres, 
which  we  organize  quickly. 

"The  making  of  bandages  and  compresses  has  al- 
ways been  an  important  work  with  us.  Yards  of 
underclothing  and  linen  are  continually  asked  of  us 
by  our  nurses  for  their  sick.  The  workshops  which 
we  have  opened  since  the  beginning  of  the  war  assist 
with  work  a  great  number  of  women  who  have  been 
left  by  the  mobilization  of  their  men  without  resources. 

"The  clubs  for  soldiers,  in  Paris  especially,  give  to 
the  convalescents  and  to  the  men  on  leave  wholesome 
amusement  and  compensate  somewhat  for  their  absent 
families. 

"Just  now  we  are  trying  to  establish  an  anti-tubercu- 
losis organization  to  save  those  of  our  soldiers  who 
have  been  infected  or  are  menaced.  Many  hospitals 


COUNTESS  D'HAUSSONVILLE       149 

are  already  opened  for  them.  At  Mentom,  on  the 
Mediterranean,  for  the  blind  tubercular;  at  Haute- 
ville,  in  the  Department  of  the  Aisne,  for  the  officers 
and  soldiers;  at  La  Rochelle,  for  bone-tuberculosis; 
but  the  task  is  enormous. 

"We  seek  also,  and  the  work  is  under  way,  to  edu- 
cate intelligently  the  mutilated,  so  that  they  may  work 
and  have  an  occupation  in  the  sad  life  which  remains 
to  them,  and  I  assure  you,  chere  madame,  that  so  many 
useful  things  to  be  done  leave  very  few  leisure  hours. 
If  a  little  weariness  has  in  spite  of  everything  slipped 
into  our  hearts,  a  visit  to  the  hospitals,  to  the  am- 
bulances at  the  Front,  the  sight  of  suffering  so  bravely, 
I  will  even  say  so  cheerfully,  supported  by  our  soldiers, 
very  quickly  revives  our  courage,  and  brings  us  back 
our  strength  and  enthusiasm.  .  .  ." 

The  Countess  de  Roussy  de  Sales  (an  American 
brought  up  in  Paris)  was  one  of  the  first  of  the  in- 
firmieres  to  be  mobilized  by  Madame  d'Haussonville 
on  the  declaration  of  war.  She  went  to  Rheims  with 
the  troops,  standing  most  of  the  time,  but  too  much 
enthralled  by  the  spirit  of  the  men  to  notice  fatigue. 
She  told  me  that  although  they  were  very  sober,  even 
grim,  she  heard  not  a  word  of  complaint,  but  con- 
stantly the  ejaculation :  "It  is  for  France  and  our 
children.  What  if  we  die,  so  long  as  our  children 
may  live  in  peace?" 

At  Rheims,  so  impossible  had  it  been  to  make  ade- 
quate preparations  with  the  Socialists  holding  up  every 


150  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

projected  budget,  there  were  no  installations  in  the 
hospitals  but  beds.  The  nurses  and  doctors  were 
obliged  to  forage  in  the  town  for  operating  tables  and 
the  hundred  and  one  other  furnishings  without  which 
no  hospital  can  be  conducted.  And  they  had  little 
time.  The  wounded  came  pouring  in  at  once. 
Madame  de  Roussy  de  Sales  said  they  were  so  busy 
it  was  some  time  before  it  dawned  on  them,  in  spite  of 
the  guns,  that  the  enemy  was  approaching.  But 
when  women  and  children  and  old  people  began  to 
hurry  through  the  streets  in  a  constant  procession  they 
knew  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  before  they  were 
ordered  out.  They  had  no  time  to  think,  however; 
much  less  to  fear. 

Finally  the  order  came  to  evacuate  the  hospitals  and 
leave  the  town,  which  at  that  time  was  in  imminent 
danger  of  capture.  There  was  little  notice.  The  last 
train  leaves  at  three  o'clock.  Be  there.  Madame  de 
Roussy  de  Sales  and  several  other  nurses  begged  to 
go  with  those  of  their  wounded  impossible  to  transfer 
by  trains,  to  the  civilian  hospitals  and  make  them  com- 
fortable before  leaving  them  in  the  hands  of  the  local 
nurses ;  and  obtained  permission.  The  result  was  that 
when  they  reached  the  station  they  saw  the  train  re- 
treating in  the  distance.  But  they  had  received  orders 
to  report  at  a  hospital  in  another  town  that  same  after- 
noon. No  vehicles  were  to  be  had.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  do  but  walk.  They  walked.  The  distance  was 
twenty-three  kilometres.  As  they  had  barely  sat 
down  since  their  arrival  in  Rheims  it  may  be  imagined 


COUNTESS  D'HAUSSONVILLE       151 


they  would  have  been  glad  to  rest  when  they  reached 
their  destination.  But  this  hospital  too  was  crowded 
with  wounded.  They  went  on  duty  at  once.  C'est 
la  guerre!  I  never  heard  any  one  complain. 


XI 
THE  MARQUISE  D'ANDIGNE 

THE  Marquise  d'Andigne,  who  was  Madeline 
Goddard  of  Providence,  R.  L,  is  President  of 
Le  Bien-£tre  du  Blesse,  an  oeuvre  formed  -by  Madame 
d'Haussonville  at  the  request  of  the  Ministere  de  la 
Guerre  in  May,  1915.  She  owes  this  position  as 
president  of  one  of  the  most  important  war  relief  or- 
ganizations (perhaps  after  the  Red  Cross  the  most  im- 
portant) to  the  energy,  conscientiousness,  and  brilliant 
executive  abilities  she  had  demonstrated  while  at  the 
Front  in  charge  of  more  than  one  hospital.  She  is  an 
infirmiere  major  and  was  decorated  twice  for  cool 
courage  and  resource  under  fire. 

The  object  of  Le  Bien-fitre  du  Blesse  is  to  provide 
delicacies  for  the  dietary  kitchens  of  the  hospitals  in 
the  War  Zone,  as  many  officers  and  soldiers  had  died 
because  unable  to  eat  eggs,  or  drink  milk,  the  only  two 
articles  furnished  by  the  rigid  military  system  of  the 
most  conservative  country  in  the  world.  The  articles 
supplied  by  Le  Bien-fitre  du  Blesse  are  very  simple: 
condensed  milk,  sugar,  cocoa,  Franco- American  soups, 
chocolate,  sweet  biscuits,  jams,  preserves,  prunes,  tea. 
Thousands  of  lives  have  been  saved  by  Bien-fitre  dur- 
ing the  past  year;  for  men  who  are  past  caring,  or 

152 


THE  MARQUISE  D'ANDIGNE        153 

wish  only  for  the  release  of  death,  have  been  coaxed 
back  to  life  by  a  bit  of  jam  on  the  tip  of  a  biscuit,  or 
a  teaspoonful  of  chicken  soup. 

Some  day  I  shall  write  the  full  and  somewhat  com- 
plicated history  of  Le  Bien-Etre  du  Blesse,  quoting 
from  many  of  Madame  d'Andigne's  delightful  letters. 
But  there  is  no  space  here  and  I  will  merely  mention 
that  my  own  part  as  the  American  President  of  Le 
Bien-Etre  du  Blesse  is  to  provide  the  major  part  of 
the  funds  with  which  it  is  run,  lest  any  of  my  readers 
should  be  tempted  to  help  me  out.*  Donations  from 
ten  cents  to  ten  thousand  are  welcome,  and  $5  keeps 
a  wounded  man  for  his  entire  time  in  one  of  those 
dreary  hospitals  in  that  devastated  region  known  as 
"Le  Zone  des  Armees,"  where  relatives  nor  friends 
ever  come  to  visit,  and  there  is  practically  no  sound 
but  the  thunder  of  guns  without  and  groans  within. 
Not  that  the  French  do  groan  much.  I  went  through 
many  of  these  hospitals  and  never  heard  a  demonstra- 
tion. But  I  am  told  they  do  sometimes. 

To  Madame  d'Andigne  belongs  all  the  credit  of 
building  up  Le  Bien-Etre  du  Blesse  from  almost  noth- 
ing (for  we  were  nearly  two  years  behind  the  other 
great  war-relief  organizations  in  starting).  Although 
many  give  her  temporary  assistance  no  one  will  take 
charge  of  any  one  department  and  she  runs  every  side 
and  phase  of  the  work.  Last  winter  she  was  cold, 
and  hungry,  and  always  anxious  about  her  husband, 

*  All  donations  in  money  are  sent  to  the  bankers,  Messers  John  Munroe 
&  Co.,  Eighth  Floor,  360  Madison  Avenue,  New  York. 


154  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

but  she  was  never  absent  from  the  office  for  a  day 
except  when  she  could  not  get  coal  to  warm  it;  and 
then  she  conducted  the  business  of  the  ceuvre  in  her 
own  apartment,  where  one  room  was  warmed  with 
wood  she  had  sawed  herself. 

To-day  Le  Bien-fitre  du  Blesse  is  not  only  one  of 
the  most  famous  of  all  the  war-relief  organizations 
of  the  fighting  powers  but  it  has  been  run  with  such 
systematic  and  increasing  success  that  the  War  Office 
has  installed  Bien-fitre  kitchens  in  the  hospitals  (be- 
fore, the  nurses  had  to  cook  our  donations  over  their 
own  spirit  lamp)  and  delegated  special  cooks  to  relieve 
the  hard-worked  infirmieres  of  a  very  considerable 
tax  on  their  energies.  This  is  a  tremendous  bit  of 
radicalism  on  the  part  of  the  Military  Department  of 
France,  and  one  that  hardly  can  be  appreciated  by 
citizens  of  a  land  always  in  a  state  of  flux.  There  is 
even  talk  of  making  these  Bien-fltre  kitchens  a  part 
of  the  regular  military  system  after  the  war  is  over, 
and  if  they  do  commit  themselves  to  so  revolutionary 
an  act  no  doubt  the  name  of  the  young  American 
Marquise  will  go  down  to  posterity — as  it  deserves  to 
do,  in  any  case. 


XII 
MADAME  CAMILLE  LYON 

MADAME  LYON  committed  on  my  behalf  what 
for  her  was  a  tremendous  breach  of  the  pro- 
prieties :  she  called  upon  me  without  the  formality  of 
a  letter  of  introduction.  No  American  can  appreciate 
what  such  a  violation  of  the  formalities  of  all  the 
ages  must  have  meant  to  a  pillar  of  the  French 
Bourgeoisie.  But  she  set  her  teeth  and  did  it.  Her 
excuse  was  that  she  had  read  all  my  books,  and  that 
she  was  a  friend  of  Mile.  Thompson,  at  whose  ficole 
Hoteliere  I  was  lodging. 

I  was  so  impressed  at  the  unusualness  of  this  pro- 
ceeding that,  being  out  when  she  first  called,  and  un- 
able to  receive  her  explanations,  I  was  filled  with  dark 
suspicion  and  sought  an  explanation  of  Mile.  Jacquier. 
Madame  Lyon?  Was  she  a  newspaper  woman?  A 
secret  service  agent?  Between  the  police  round  the 
corner  and  Mile.  Jacquier,  under  whose  eagle  eye  I 
conformed  to  all  the  laws  of  France  in  war  time,  I 
felt  in  no  further  need  of  supervision. 

Mile.  Jacquier  was  very  much  amused.  Madame 
Lyon  was  a  very  important  person.  Her  husband  had 
been  associated  with  the  Government  for  fourteen 
years  until  he  had  died,  leaving  a  fortune  behind  him, 

155 


156  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

a  year  before;  and  Madame  Lyon  was  not  only  on 
intimate  terms  with  the  Government  but  made  herself 
useful  in  every  way  possible  to  them.  She  was  one 
of  the  two  ladies  asked  to  cooperate  with  the  Govern- 
ment in  their  great  enterprise  to  wage  war  on  tuber- 
culosis— Le  Comite  Central  d'Assistance  aux  Mili- 
taires  Tuberculeux;  and  was  to  open  ateliers  to  teach 
the  men  how  to  learn  new  trades  by  which  they  might 
sit  at  home  in  comfort  and  support  themselves. 

And  she  had  her  own  ouvroir — "L'Aide  Immediate" 
— for  providing  things  for  the  permissionnaires,  who 
came  to  the  door  and  asked  for  them.  She  ran,  with 
a  committee  of  other  ladies,  a  cafe  in  Paris,  where 
the  permissionnaires  or  the  reformes  could  go  and 
have  their  afternoon  coffee  and  smoke  all  the  cigar- 
ettes that  their  devoted  patrons  provided.  One  hun- 
dred poilus  came  here  a  day,  and  her  ouvroir  had  al- 
ready assisted  eighteen  thousand.  And 

But  by  this  time  I  was  more  interested  to  meet 
Madame  Lyon  than  any  one  in  Paris.  As  I  have  said 
before,  a  letter  or  two  will  open  the  doors  of  the 
noblesse  or  the  "Intellectuals"  to  any  stranger  who 
knows  how  to  behave  himself  and  is  no  bore,  but  to 
get  a  letter  to  a  member  of  the  bourgeoisie — I  hadn't 
even  made  the  attempt,  knowing  how  futile  it  would 
be.  If  one  of  them  was  doing  a  great  work,  like 
Mile.  Javal,  I  could  meet  her  quite  easily  through  some 
member  of  her  committee;  but  when  Frenchwomen 
of  this  class,  which  in  its  almost  terrified  exclusive- 
ness  reminds  me  only  of  our  own  social  groups  balanc- 


MADAME  CAMILLE  LYON          157 

ing  on  the  very  tip  of  the  pyramid  and  clutching  one 
another  lest  some  intruder  topple  them  off,  or  cast 
the  faintest  shadow  on  their  hard-won  prestige,  are 
working  in  small  groups  composed  of  their  own 
friends,  I  could  not  meet  one  of  them  if  I  pitched  my 
tent  under  her  windows. 

Madame  Lyon  gave  me  a  naive  explanation  of  her 
audacity  when  we  finally  did  meet.  "I  am  a  Jewess," 
she  said,  "and  therefore  not  so  bound  down  by  con- 
ventions. You  see,  we  of  the  Jewish  race  were  sup- 
pressed so  long  that  now  we  have  our  freedom  re- 
action makes  us  almost  adventurous." 

Besides  hastening  to  tell  me  of  her  race  she 
promptly,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  honor,  informed 
me  that  she  was  sixty  years  old!  She  looked  about 
forty,  her  complexion  was  white  and  smooth,  her  nose 
little  and  straight,  her  eyes  brilliant.  She  dressed  in 
the  smartest  possible  mourning,  and  with  that  white 
ruff  across  her  placid  brow — Oh  la  la! 

She  has  one  son,  who  was  wounded  so  terribly  in 
the  first  year  of  the  war,  and  was  so  long  getting  to  a 
hospital  where  he  could  receive  proper  attention,  that 
he  was  gangrened.  In  consequence  his  recovery  was 
very  slow,  and  he  was  not  permitted  to  go  again  to 
the  trenches,  but  was,  after  his  recovery,  sent  up  north 
to  act  as  interpreter  between  the  British  and  French 
troops.  He  stood  this  for  a  few  months,  and  Madame 
Lyon  breathed  freely,  but  there  came  a  time  when 
M.  Lyon,  although  a  lawyer  in  times  of  peace,  could 
not  stand  the  tame  life  of  interpreter.  He  might  be 


158  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

still  delicate,  but,  he  argued,  there  were  officers  at  the 
front  who  had  only  one  arm.  At  the  present  moment 
he  is  in  the  stiffest  fighting  on  the  Somme. 

I  saw  a  great  deal  of  Madame  Lyon  and  enjoyed 
no  one  more,  she  was  so  independent,  so  lively  of 
mind,  and  so  ready  for  anything.  She  went  with  me 
on  two  of  my  trips  in  the  War  Zone,  being  only  too 
glad  of  mental  distraction;  for  like  all  the  mothers 
of  France  she  dreads  the  ring  of  the  door-bell.  She 
told  me  that  several  times  the  ladies  who  worked  in 
her  ouvroir  would  come  down  with  beaming  faces  and 
read  extracts  from  letters  just  received  from  their  sons 
at  the  Front,  then  go  home  and  find  a  telegram  an- 
nouncing death  or  shattered  limbs. 

Madame  Lyon  has  a  hotel  on  the  Boulevard  Berthier 
and  before  her  husband's  death  was  famous  for  her 
political  breakfasts,  which  were  also  graced  by  men 
and  women  distinguishing  themselves  in  the  arts. 
These  breakfasts  have  not  been  renewed,  but  I  met  at 
tea  there  a  number  of  the  political  women.  One  of 
these  was  Madame  Ribot,  wife  of  the  present  Premier. 
She  is  a  very  tall,  thin,  fashionable  looking  woman, 
and  before  she  had  finished  the  formalities  with  her 
hostess  (and  these  formalities  do  take  so  long!)  I 
knew  her  to  be  an  American.  She  spoke  French  as 
fluently  as  Madame  Lyon,  but  the  accent,  however 
faint — or  was  it  a  mere  intonation, — was  unmistak- 
able. She  told  me  afterward  that  she  had  come  to 
France  as  a  child  and  had  not  been  in  the  United 
States  for  fifty-two  years! 


MADAME  CAMILLE  LYON          159 

One  day  Madame  Lyon  took  me  to  see  the  ateliers 
of  Madame  Viviani — in  other  words,  the  workshops 
where  the  convalescents  who  must  become  reformes 
are  learning  new  trades  and  industries  under  the  pa- 
tronage of  the  wife  of  the  cabinet  minister  now  best 
known  to  us.  Madame  Viviani  has  something  like  ten 
or  twelve  of  these  ateliers,  but  after  I  had  seen  one  or 
two  of  the  same  sort  of  anything  in  Paris,  and  listened 
to  long  conscientious  explanations,  and  walked  miles 
in  those  enormous  hospitals  (originally,  for  the  most 
part,  Lycees)  I  felt  that  duplication  could  not  enhance 
my  knowledge,  and  might,  indeed,  have  the  sad  effect 
of  blunting  it. 

Madame  Lyon  said  to  me  more  than  once:  "Ma 
chere,  you  are  without  exception,  the  most  impatient 
woman  I  have  ever  seen  in  my  life.  You  no  sooner 
enter  a  place  than  you  want  to  leave  it."  She  was  re- 
ferring at  the  moment  to  the  hospitals  in  the  War 
Zone,  where  she  would  lean  on  the  foot  of  every  bed 
and  have  a  long  gossip  with  the  delighted  inmate, 
extract  the  history  of  his  wound,  and  relate  the  tale 
of  similar  wounds,  healed  by  surgery,  time  and 
patience — while  I,  having  made  the  tour  of  the  cots, 
either  opened  and  shut  the  door  significantly,  or 
walked  up  and  down  impatiently,  occasionally  mutter- 
ing in  her  ear. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  I  had  long  since 
cultivated  the  habit  of  registering  definite  impressions 
in  a  flash,  and  after  a  tour  of  the  cots,  which  took 
about  seven  minutes,  could  have  told  her  the  nature 


160  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

of  every  wound.  Moreover,  I  knew  the  men  did  not 
want  to  talk  to  me,  and  I  felt  impertinent  hanging 
round. 

But  all  this  was  incomprehensible  to  a  French- 
woman, to  whom  time  is  nothing,  and  who  knows  how 
the  French  in  any  conditions  love  to  talk. 

However,  to  return  to  Madame  Viviani. 

After  one  futile  attempt,  when  I  got  lost,  I  met 
Madame  Lyon  and  her  distinguished  but  patient  friend 
out  in  one  of  the  purlieus  of  Paris  where  the  Lycee  of 
Arts  and  Crafts  has  been  turned  into  a  hospital  for 
convalescents. 

Under  the  direction  of  a  doctor  each  convalescent 
was  working  at  what  his  affected  muscles  most  needed 
or  could  stand.  Those  that  ran  sewing-machines  ex- 
ercised their  legs.  Those  that  made  toys  and  cut 
wood  with  the  electric  machines  got  a  certain  amount 
of  arm  exercise.  The  sewing-machine  experts  had 
already  made  fifty  thousand  sacks  for  sand  fortifica- 
tions and  breastworks. 

From  this  enormous  Lycee  (which  cost,  I  was  told, 
five  million  francs)  we  drove  to  the  Salpetriere,  which 
in  the  remote  ages  before  the  war,  was  an  old  people's 
home.  Its  extent,  comprising,  as  it  does,  court  after 
court,  gardens,  masses  of  buildings  which  loom  be- 
yond and  yet  beyond,  not  only  inspired  awed  reflections 
of  the  number  of  old  that  must  need  charity  in  Paris 
but  made  one  wonder  where  they  were  at  the  present 
moment,  now  that  the  Salpetriere  had  been  turned  into 


MADAME  CAMILLE  LYON          161 

a  hospital.  Perhaps,  being  very  old,  they  had  con- 
veniently died. 

Here  the  men  made  wooden  shoes  with  leather  tops 
for  the  trenches,  cigarette  packages,  ingenious  toys — 
the  airships  and  motor  ambulances  were  the  most 
striking;  baskets,  chairs,  lace. 

The  rooms  I  visited  were  in  charge  of  an  English 
infirmiere  and  were  fairly  well  aired.  Some  of  the 
men  would  soon  be  well  enough  to  go  back  to  the 
Front  and  were  merely  given  occupation  during  their 
convalescence.  But  in  the  main  the  object  is  to  prepare 
the  unfortunates  known  as  re  formes  for  the  future. 

Since  the  righting  on  the  Somme  began  Madame 
Lyon  has  gone  several  times  a  month  to  the  recaptured 
towns,  in  charge  of  train-loads  of  installations  for  the 
looted  homes  of  the  wretched  people.  In  one  entire 
village  the  Germans  had  left  just  one  saucepan.  Noth- 
ing else  whatever. 


XIII 

BRIEF  ACCOUNTS  OF  GREAT  WORK 
THE  DUCHESSE  D'UzES 

THE  Duchesse  d'Uzes  (jeune)  was  not  only  one 
of  the  reigning  beauties  of  Paris  before  the  war 
but  one  of  its  best-dressed  women;  nor  had  she  ever 
been  avoided  for  too  serious  tendencies.  She  went  to 
work  the  day  war  began  and  she  has  never  ceased  to 
work  since.  She  has  started  something  like  seventeen 
hospitals  both  at  the  French  front  and  in  Saloniki,  and 
her  tireless  brain  has  to  its  credit  several  notable  in- 
ventions for  moving  field  hospitals. 

Near  Amiens  is  the  most  beautiful  of  the  due's 
castles,  Lucheux,  built  in  the  eleventh  century.  This  . 
she  turned  into  a  hospital  during  the  first  battle  of 
the  Somme  in  1915,  and  as  it  could  only  accommodate 
a  limited  number  she  had  hospital  tents  erected  in 
the  park.  Seven  hundred  were  cared  for  there. 
Lucheux  is  now  a  hospital  for  officers. 

She  herself  is  an  infirmiere  major  and  not  only  goes 
back  and  forth  constantly  to  the  hospitals  in  which  she 
is  interested,  particularly  Lucheux,  but  sometimes 
nurses  day  and  night. 

I  was  very  anxious  to  see  Lucheux,  as  well  as  Arras, 

162 


BRIEF  ACCOUNTS  OF  GREAT  WORK     163 

which  is  not  far  from  Amiens,  and,  a  vast  ruin,  is 
said  to  be  by  moonlight  the  most  beautiful  sight  on 
earth.  We  both  besieged  the  War  Office.  But  in  vain. 
The  great  Battle  of  the  Somme  had  just  begun.  They 
are  so  polite  at  the  Ministere  de  la  Guerre!  If  I  had 
only  thought  of  it  a  month  earlier.  Or  if  I  could  re- 
main in  France  a  month  or  two.  longer  ?  But  helas ! 
They  could  not  take  the  responsibility  of  letting  an 
American  woman  go  so  close  to  the  big  guns.  And 
so  forth.  It  was  sad  enough  that  the  duchess  risked 
her  life,  took  it  in  her  hand,  in  fact,  every  time  she 
visited  the  chateau,  but  as  a  Frenchwoman,  whose 
work  was  of  such  value  to  France,  it  was  their  duty 
to  assist  her  in  the  fulfillment  of  her  own  duty  to  her 
country.  Naturally  her  suggestion  to  take  me  on  her 
passport  as  an  infirmiere  was  received  with  a  smile. 
So  I  must  see  Arras  with  a  million  other  tourists  after 
the  war. 

The  duchess  prefers  for  reasons  of  her  own  to 
work,  not  with  the  noblesse  division  of  the  Red  Cross, 
but  with  the  Union  des  Femmes  de  France.  As  she 
is  extremely  independent,  impatient,  and  enterprising, 
with  a  haughty  disdain  of  red  tape,  the  reasons  for 
this  uncommon  secession  may  be  left  to  the  reader. 

And  if  she  is  to-day  one  of  the  most  valued  of  the 
Ministere  de  la  Guerre's  cooperators,  she  has  on  the 
other  hand  reason  to  be  grateful  for  the  incessant  de- 
mands upon  her  mind,  for  her  anxieties  have  been 
great — no  doubt  are  still.  Not  only  is  the  due  at  the 
front,  but  one  of  two  young  nephews  who  lived  with 


164  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

her  was  killed  last  summer,  and  the  other,  a  young 
aviator,  who  was  just  recovering  from  typhoid  when  I 
was  there,  was  ill-concealing  his  impatience  to  return 
to  the  Front.  Her  son,  a  boy  of  seventeen — a  volun- 
teer of  course — in  the  sudden  and  secret  transfers  the 
army  authorities  are  always  making,  sometimes  could 
not  communicate  with  her  for  a  fortnight  at  a  time,  and 
meanwhile  she  did  not  know  whether  he  was  alive  or 
"missing."  Since  then  he  has  suffered  one  of  those 
cruel  misfortunes  which,  in  this  war,  seem  to  be  re- 
served for  the  young  and  gallant.  She  writes  of  it 
in  that  manner  both  poignant  and  matter-of-fact  that 
is  so  characteristic  of  the  French  mother  these  days : 

"I  have  just  gone  through  a  great  deal  of  anguish 
on  account  of  my  oldest  son,  who,  as  I  told  you,  left 
the  cavalry  to  enter  the  chasseurs  a  pied  at  his  request. 

"The  poor  boy  was  fighting  in  the  splendid  (illegi- 
ble) affair,  and  he  was  buried  twice,  then  caught  by 
the  stifling  gases,  his  mask  having  been  torn  off.  He 
insisted  upon  remaining  at  his  post,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  he  was  spitting  blood.  Fortunately  a  lieu- 
tenant passed  by  and  saw  him.  He  gave  orders  to 
have  him  carried  away.  As  soon  as  he  reached  the 
ambulance  he  fainted  and  could  only  be  brought  to 
himself  with  the  greatest  difficulty.  His  lungs  are  bet- 
ter, thank  God,  but  his  heart  is  very  weak,  and  even 
his  limbs  are  affected  by  the  poison.  Many  weeks 
will  be  required  to  cure  him.  I  don't  know  yet  where 
he  will  be  sent  to  be  attended  to,  but  of  course  I  shall 
accompany  him.  .  .  .  The  due  is  always  in  the  Somme, 


BRIEF  ACCOUNTS  OF  GREAT  WORK     165 

where  the  bombardment  is  something  dreadful.  He 
sleeps  in  a  hut  infested  with  rats.  Really  it  is  a  beau- 
tiful thing  to  see  so  much  courage  and  patience  among 
men  of  all  ages  in  this  country." 

In  the  same  letter  she  writes :  "I  am  just  about  to 
finish  my  new  Front  hospital  according  to  the  de- 
siderata expressed  by  our  President  of  the  Hygiene 
Commission.  I  hope  it  will  be  accepted  as  a  type  of 
the  surgical  movable  ambulances." 

Before  it  was  generally  known  that  Roumania  was 
"coming  in"  she  had  doctors  and  nurses  for  several 
months  in  France  in  the  summer  of  1916  studying  all 
the  latest  devices  developed  by  the  French  throughout 
this  most  demanding  of  all  wars.  The  officials  sent 
with  them  adopted  several  of  the  Duchesse  d'Uzes'  in- 
ventions for  the  movable  field  hospital. 

She  has  never  sent  me  the  many  specific  details  of 
her  work  that  she  promised  me,  or  this  article  would 
be  longer.  But,  no  wonder!  What  time  have  those 
women  to  sit  down  and  write?  I  often  wonder  they 
gave  me  as  much  time  as  they  did  when  I  was  on 
the  spot. 

THE  DUCHESSE  DE  ROHAN 

Before  the  war  society  used  to  dance  once  a  week 
in  the  red  and  gold  salon  of  the  historic  "hotel"  of 
the  Rohans'  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  just  behind 
the  Hotel  des  Invalides.  Here  the  duchess  enter- 
tained when  she  took  up  her  residence  there  as  a  bride ; 


166  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

and,  as  her  love  of  "the  world"  never  waned,  she 
danced  on  with  the  inevitable  pauses  for  birth  and 
mourning,  until  her  daughters  grew  up  and  brought 
to  the  salon  a  new  generation.  But  the  duchess  and 
her  own  friends  continued  to  dance  on  a  night  set 
apart  for  themselves,  and  in  time  all  of  her  daughters, 
but  one,  married  and  entertained  in  their  own  hotels. 
Her  son,  who,  in  due  course,  became  the  Due  de 
Rohan,  also  married ;  but  mothers  are  not  dispossessed 
in  France,  and  the  duchess  still  remained  the  center 
of  attraction  at  the  Hotel  de  Rohan. 

Until  August  second,  1914. 

The  duchess  immediately  turned  the  hotel  into  a 
hospital.  When  I  arrived  last  summer  it  looked  as  if  it 
had  been  a  hospital  for  ever.  All  the  furniture  of  the 
first  floor  had  been  stored  and  the  immense  dining- 
room,  the  red  and  gold  salon,  the  reception  rooms,  all 
the  rooms  large  and  small  on  this  floor,  in  fact,  were 
lined  with  cots.  The  pictures  and  tapestries  have  been 
covered  with  white  linen,  four  bathrooms  have  been 
installed,  and  a  large  operating  and  surgical-dressing 
room  built  as  an  annex.  The  hall  has  been  turned  into 
a  "bureau,"  with  a  row  of  offices  presided  over  by 
Maurice  Rostand. 

Behind  the  hotel  is  the  usual  beautiful  garden,  very 
large  and  shaded  with  splendid  trees.  During  fine 
weather  there  are  cots  or  long  chairs  under  every  tree, 
out  in  the  sun,  on  the  veranda;  and,  after  the  War 
Zone,  these  men  seemed  to  me  very  fortunate.  The 
duchess  takes  in  any  one  sent  to  her,  the  Government 


BRIEF  ACCOUNTS  OF  GREAT  WORK     167 

paying  her  one-franc-fifty  a  day  for  each.  The  greater 
part  of  her  own  fortune  was  invested  in  Brussels. 

She  and  her  daughters  and  a  few  of  her  friends  do 
all  of  the  nursing,  even  the  most  menial.  They  wait 
on  the  table,  because  it  cheers  the  poilus — who,  by  the 
way,  all  beg,  as  soon  as  they  have  been  there  a  few 
days,  to  be  put  in  the  red  and  gold  salon.  It  keeps 
up  their  spirits !  Her  friends  and  their  friends,  if  they 
have  any  in  Paris,  call  constantly  and  bring  them 
cigarettes.  Fortunately  I  was  given  the  hint  by  the 
Marquise  de  Talleyrand,  who  took  me  the  first  time, 
and  armed  myself  with  one  of  those  long  boxes  that 
may  be  carried  most  conveniently  under  the  arm. 
Otherwise,  I  should  have  felt  like  a  superfluous  in- 
truder, standing  about  those  big  rooms  looking  at  the 
men.  In  the  War  Zone  where  there  were  often  no 
cigarettes,  or  anything  else,  to  be  bought,  it  was  differ- 
ent. The  men  were  only  too  glad  to  see  a  new  face. 

The  duchess  trots  about  indefatigably,  assists  at 
every  operation,  assumes  personal  charge  of  infec- 
tious cases,  takes  temperatures,  waits  on  the  table, 
and  prays  all  night  by  the  dying.  Mr.  Van  Husen,  a 
young  American  who  was  helping  her  at  that  time, 
told  me  that  if  a  boy  died  in  the  hospital  and  was  a 
devout  Catholic,  and  friendless  in  Paris,  she  arranged 
to  have  a  high  mass  for  his  funeral  service  at  a  church 
in  the  neighborhood. 

The  last  time  I  saw  her  she  was  feeling  very  happy 
because  her  youngest  son,  who  had  been  missing  for 
several  weeks,  had  suddenly  appeared  at  the  hotel  and 


168  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

spent  a  few  days  with  her.  A  week  later  the  Due  de 
Rohan,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  soldiers  in  France, 
was  killed;  and  since  my  return  I  have  heard  of  the 
death  of  her  youngest.  Such  is  life  for  the  Mothers 
of  France  to-day. 


COUNTESS  GREFFULHE 

The  Countess  Greffulhe  (born  Princesse  de  Chimay 
and  consequently  a  Belgian,  although  no  stretch 
of  fancy  could  picture  her  as  anything  but  a 
Parisian)  offered  her  assistance  at  once  to  the  Gov- 
ernment and  corresponded  with  hundreds  of  Mayors 
in  the  provinces  in  order  to  have  deserted  hotels  made 
over  into  hospitals  with  as  little  delay  as  possible.  She 
also  established  a  depot  to  which  women  could  come 
privately  and  sell  their  laces,  jewels,  bibelots,  etc. 
Her  next  enterprise  was  to  form  a  powerful  committee 
which  responsible  men  and  women  of  the  allied  coun- 
tries could  ask  to  get  up  benefits  when  the  need  for 
money  was  pressing. 

Upon  one  occasion  when  a  British  Committee  made 
this  appeal  she  induced  Russia  to  send  a  ballet  for  a 
single  performance;  and  she  also  persuaded  the  man- 
ager of  the  Opera  House  to  open  it  for  a  gala  perform- 
ance for  another  organization.  There  is  a  romantic 
flavor  about  all  the  countess's  work,  and  just  how 
practical  it  was  or  how  long  it  was  pursued  along  any 
given  line  I  was  unable  to  learn. 


BRIEF  ACCOUNTS  OF  GREAT  WORK     169 

MADAME  PAQUIN 

Madame  Paquin,  better  known  to  Americans,  I 
fancy,  than  any  of  the  great  dressmakers  of  Europe, 
offered  her  beautiful  home  in  Neuilly  to  the  Govern- 
ment to  be  used  as  a  hospital,  and  it  had  accom- 
modated up  to  the  summer  of  1916  eight  thousand, 
nine  hundred  soldiers. 

She  also  kept  all  her  girls  at  work  from  the  first. 
As  no  one  ordered  a  gown  for  something  like  eighteen 
months  they  made  garments  for  the  soldiers,  or  badges 
for  the  numerous  appeal  days — we  all  decorated  our- 
selves, within  ten  minutes  after  leaving  the  house,  like 
heroes  and  heroines  on  the  field,  about  three  times  a 
week — and  upon  one  occasion  this  work  involved  a 
three  months'  correspondence  with  all  the  Mayors  of 
France.  It  further  involved  the  fastening  of  ribbons 
and  pins  (furnished  by  herself)  upon  fifteen  million 
medallions.  Madame  Paquin  is  also  on  many  im- 
portant committees,  including  "L'Orphelinat  des 
Armees,"  so  well  known  to  us. 


MADAME  PAUL  DUPUY 

Madame  Dupuy  was  also  an  American  girl,  born 
in  New  York  and  now  married  to  the  owner  of 
Le  Petit  Parisien  and  son  of  one  of  the  wealthiest 
men  in  France.  She  opened  in  the  first  days  of  the 


170  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

war  an  organization  which  she  called  "CEuvre  du 
Soldat  Blesse  ou  Malade,"  and  from  her  offices  in  the 
Hotel  de  Crillon  and  her  baraque  out  at  the  Depot  des 
Dons  (where  we  all  have  warehouses),  she  supplies 
surgeons  at  the  Front  with  wheeling-chairs,  surgical 
dressings,  bed  garments,  rubber  for  operating  tables, 
instruments,  slippers,  pillows,  blankets,  and  a  hundred 
and  one  other  things  that  harassed  surgeons  at  the 
Front  are  always  demanding.  The  ceuvre  of  the  Mar- 
quise de  Noailles,  with  which  a  daughter  of  Mrs. 
Henry  Seligmen,  Madame  Henri  van  Heukelom,  is 
closely  associated,  is  run  on  similar  lines. 

I  have  alluded  frequently  in  the  course  of  these 
reminiscences  to  Madame  Dupuy,  who  was  of  the 
greatest  assistance  to  me,  and  more  than  kind  and 
willing.  I  wish  I  could  have  returned  it  by  collecting 
money  for  her  ceuvre  when  I  returned  to  New  York, 
but  I  found  that  Le  Bien-fitre  du  Blesse  was  all  I 
could  manage.  Moreover,  it  is  impossible  to  get  money 
these  days  without  a  powerful  committee  behind  you. 
To  go  to  one  wealthy  and  generous  person  or  another 
as  during  the  first  days  of  the  war  and  ask  for  a  dona- 
tion for  the  president  of  an  ceuvre  unrepresented  in 
this  country  is  out  of  the  question.  It  is  no  longer 
done,  as  the  English  say. 


XIV 

ONE  OF  THE  MOTHERLESS 

VERSAILLES  frames  in  my  memory  the  most 
tragic  of  the  war-time  pictures  I  collected  dur- 
ing my  visit  to  France.  That  romantic  and  lovely  city 
which  has  framed  in  turn  the  pomp  and  glory  of 
France,  the  iconic  simplicities  of  Marie  Antoinette,  the 
odious  passions  of  a  French  mob,  screeching  for  bread 
and  blood,  and  the  creation  of  a  German  Empire,  will 
for  long  be  associated  in  my  mind  with  a  sad  and 
isolated  little  picture  that  will  find  no  niche  in  history, 
but,  as  a  symbol,  is  as  diagnostic  as  the  storming  of 
the  palace  gates  in  1789. 

There  is  a  small  but  powerful  reuvre  in  Paris,  com- 
posed with  one  exception  of  Americans  devoted  to  the 
cause  of  France.  It  was  founded  by  its  treasurer,  Mr. 
Frederic  Coudert.  Mr.  August  Jaccaci,  of  New  York, 
is  President;  Mrs.  Cooper  Hewett,  Honorary  Presi- 
dent; Mrs.  Robert  Bliss,  Vice-President ;  and  the 
Committee  consists  of  the  Comtesse  de  Viel  Castel, 
Mrs.  Francis  G.  Shaw,  and  Mrs.  William  H.  Hill,  of 
Boston.  It  is  called  "The  Franco-American  Commit- 
tee for  the  Protection  of  the  Children  of  the  Frontier." 

This  Committee,  which  in  May,  1916,  had  already 
rescued  twelve  hundred  children,  was  born  of  one  of 

171 


172  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

those  imperative  needs  of  the  moment  when  the 
French  civilians  and  their  American  friends,  working 
behind  the  lines,  responded  to  the  needs  of  the  unfor- 
tunate, with  no  time  for  foresight  and  prospective 
organization. 

In  August,  1914,  M.  Cruppi,  a  former  Minister  of 
State,  told  Mr.  Coudert  that  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Belfort  there  were  about  eighty  homeless  children, 
driven  before  the  first  great  wind  of  the  war,  the  battle 
of  Metz;  separated  from  their  mothers  (their  fathers 
and  big  brothers  were  fighting)  they  had  wandered, 
with  other  refugees,  down  below  the  area  of  battle 
and  were  huddled  homeless  and  almost  starving  in 
and  near  the  distracted  town  of  Belfort. 

Mr.  Coudert  immediately  asked  his  friends  in  Paris 
to  collect  funds,  and  started  with  M.  Cruppi  for  Bel- 
fort.  There  they  found  not  eighty  but  two  hundred 
and  five  children,  shelterless,  hungry,  some  of  them 
half  imbecile  from  shock,  and  all  physically  disor- 
dered. 

To  leave  any  of  these  wretched  waifs  behind,  when 
Belfort  itself  might  fall  at  any  moment,  was  out  of 
the  question,  and  M.  Cruppi  and  Mr.  Coudert  crowded 
them  all  into  the  military  cars  allotted  by  the  Govern- 
ment and  took  them  to  Paris.  Some  money  had  been 
raised.  Mr.  Coudert  cabled  to  friends  in  America, 
Mrs.  Bliss  (wife  of  the  First  Secretary  of  the  Amer- 
ican Embassy)  and  Mrs.  Cooper  Hewett  contributed 
generously,  Valentine  Thompson  gave  her  help  and 
advice  for  a  time,  and  Madame  Pietre,  wife  of  the 


ONE  OF  THE  MOTHERLESS        173 

sous-prefet  of  Yvetot,  installed  the  children  in  an 
old  seminary  near  her  home  and  gave  them  her  per- 
sonal attention.  Later,  one  hundred  were  returned  to 
their  parents  and  the  rest  placed  in  a  beautiful  chateau 
surrounded  by  a  park. 

Every  day  of  those  first  terrible  weeks  of  the  war 
proved  that  more  and  more  children  must  be  cared 
for  by  those  whom  fortune  had  so  far  spared.  It  was 
then  that  Mr.  Jaccaci  renounced  all  private  work  and 
interests,  and  that  Mrs.  Hill,  Mrs.  Shaw  and  the 
Comtesse  de  Viel  Castel  volunteered.  The  organiza- 
tion was  formed  and  christened,  Mrs.  Bliss  provided 
Relief  Depots  in  Paris,  and  Mr.  Coudert  returned  to 
New  York  for  a  brief  visit  in  search  of  funds. 

During  the  bombardment  of  the  Belgian  and  French 
towns  these  children  came  into  Paris  on  every  train. 
They  were  tagged  like  post-ofHce  packages,  and  it  was 
as  well  they  were,  not  only  because  some  were  too 
little  to  know  or  to  pronounce  their  names  correctly, 
but  even  the  older  ones  were  often  too  dazed  to  give 
a  coherent  account  of  themselves;  although  the  more 
robust  quickly  recovered.  The  first  thing  to  do  with 
this  human  flotsam  was  to  wash  and  disinfect  and 
feed  it,  clip  its  hair  to  the  skull,  and  then,  having 
burned  the  rags  of  arrival,  dress  it  in  clean  substantial 
clothes.  While  I  was  in  Paris  Mr.  Jaccaci  and  Mrs. 
Hill  were  meeting  these  trains ;  and,  when  the  smaller 
children  arrived  frightened  and  tearful  they  took 
them  in  their  arms  and  consoled  them  all  the  way  to 


174  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

the  Relief  Depots.  The  result  was  that  they  needed 
the  same  treatment  as  the  children. 

It  was  generally  the  Cure  or  the  Mayor  of  the 
bombarded  towns  that  had  rounded  up  each  little  par- 
entless  army  and  headed  it  toward  Paris.  When  the 
larger  children  were  themselves  again  they  all  told  the 
same  bitter  monotonous  stories.  Suddenly  a  rain  of 
shrapnel  fell  on  their  village  or  town.  They  fled  to 
the  cellars,  perhaps  to  the  one  Cave  Voutee  (a  stone 
cellar  with  vaulted  roof)  and  there  herded  in  inde- 
scribable filth,  darkness,  fear,  hunger  for  weeks  and 
even  months  at  a  time.  The  shelling  of  a  village  soon 
stopped,  but  in  the  larger  towns,  strategic  points  de- 
sired of  the  enemy,  the  bombarding  would  be  inces- 
sant. Mothers,  or  older  children,  would  venture  out 
for  food,  returning  perhaps  with  enough  to  keep  the 
pale  flame  of  life  alive,  as  often  as  not  falling  a 
huddled  mass  a  few  feet  from  the  exit  of  the  cellar. 
Mothers  died  of  typhoid,  pneumonia,  in  childbirth; 
others  never  had  reached  the  cellar  with  their  own 
children  in  the  panic;  one  way  or  another  these  chil- 
dren arrived  in  Paris  in  a  state  of  orphanhood,  al- 
though later  investigations  proved  them  to  have  been 
hiding  close  to  their  mother  (and  sometimes  father; 
for  all  men  are  not  physically  fit  for  war)  by  the 
width  of  a  street,  in  a  town  where  the  long  roar  of 
guns  dulled  the  senses  and  the  affections,  and  the  con- 
stant hail  of  shrapnel  precluded  all  search  for  anything 
but  food. 

Moreover,   many   families   had   fled   from   villages 


ONE  OF  THE  MOTHERLESS        175 

lying  in  the  path  of  the  advancing  hordes  to  the 
neighboring  towns,  and  there  separated,  crowding  into 
the  nearest  Caves  Voutees.  Most  of  these  poor  women 
carried  a  baby  and  were  distraught  with  fear  besides ; 
the  older  children  must  cling  to  the  mother's  skirts 
or  become  lost  in  the  melee. 

When  one  considers  that  many  of  these  children,  in 
Rheims  or  Verdun,  for  instance,  were  in  cellars  not 
for  weeks  but  for  months,  without  seeing  the  light 
of  day,  with  their  hunger  never  satisfied,  with  corpses 
unburied  for  days  until  a  momentary  lull  encouraged 
the  elders  to  remove  the  sand  bags  at  the  exit  and 
thrust  them  out,  with  their  refuge  rocking  constantly 
and  their  ear-drums  splitting  with  raucous  sounds, 
where  the  stenches  were  enough  to  poison  what  red 
blood  they  had  left  and  there  were  no  medicines  to 
care  for  the  afflicted  little  bodies,  one  pities  anew  those 
mentally  afflicted  people  who  assert  at  automatic 
intervals,  "I  can't  see  any  difference  between  the 
cruelty  of  the  British  blockade  and  the  German  sub- 
marines." The  resistant  powers  of  the  human  body, 
given  the  bare  chance  of  remaining  alive,  are  little 
short  of  phenomenal.  But  then,  when  Nature  com- 
pounded the  human  frame  it  was  to  fling  it  into  a  new- 
born world  far  more  difficult  to  survive  than  even  the 
awful  conditions  of  modern  warfare. 

Some  of  these  children  were  wounded  before  they 
reached  the  cellars.  In  many  cases  the  families  re- 
mained in  their  homes  until  the  walls,  at  first  pierced 
by  the  shrapnel,  began  to  tumble  about  their  ears. 


176  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

Then  they  would  run  to  the  homes  of  friends  on 
the  other  side  of  the  town,  staying  there  until  the 
guns,  aided  by  the  air  scouts,  raked  such  houses  as 
had  escaped  the  first  assault.  Often  there  were  no 
Caves  Voutees  in  the  villages.  The  mothers  cowered 
with  their  children  under  the  tottering  walls  or  lay 
flat  on  the  ground  until  the  German  guns  turned  else- 
where; then  they  ran  for  the  nearest  town.  But  dur- 
ing these  distracted  transfers  many  received  wounds 
whose  scars  they  are  likely  to  carry  through  life.  The 
most  seriously  wounded  were  taken  to  the  military 
hospitals,  where  they  either  died,  or,  if  merely  in  need 
of  bandages,  were  quickly  turned  out  to  make  room 
for  some  poilu  arriving  in  the  everlasting  procession 
of  stretchers. 

Sometimes,  flat  on  their  stomachs,  the  more  curious 
and  intelligent  of  the  children  watched  the  shells  sail- 
ing overhead  to  drop  upon  some  beautiful  villa  or 
chateau  and  transpose  it  into  a  heap  of  stones.  Where 
there  were  English  or  Americans  in  these  bombarded 
towns,  or  where  the  Cures  or  the  Mayors  of  those 
invaded  had  not  been  shot  or  imprisoned,  the  children 
were  sent  as  quickly  as  possible  to  Paris,  the  mothers, 
when  there  were  any,  only  too  content  to  let  them  go 
and  to  remain  behind  and  take  their  chances  with  the 
shells. 

One  little  Belgian  named  Bonduelle,  who,  with  two 
brothers,  reached  Paris  in  safety,  is  very  graphic: 
"We  are  three  orphans,"  he  replied  in  answer  to  the 
usual  questions.  "Our  uncle  and  aunt  took  the  place 


ONE  OF  THE  MOTHERLESS        177 

of  our  dear  parents,  so  soon  taken  from  us.  ...  It 
was  towards  the  evening  of  Wednesday,  6th  Septem- 
ber, 1914,  that  I  was  coming  back  to  my  uncle's  house 
from  Ypres,  when  all  at  once  I  heard  shrieks  and 
yells  in  the  distance.  I  stopped,  for  I  was  like  one 
stunned.  On  hearing  behind  me,  on  the  highway,  Ger- 
man cavalry,  I  ran  into  a  house  where  I  spent  the 
night.  I  could  not  close  my  eyes  when  I  thought  of 
the  anxiety  of  my  uncle  and  aunt  and  of  the  fate  of 
my  two  small  brothers,  Michael  and  Roger.  Early 
the  following  day  I  rushed  to  our  house.  Everybody 
was  in  the  cellar.  We  shed  tears  on  meeting  again. 
I  found  two  of  my  cousins  wounded  by  a  shell  which 
had  exploded  outside  our  door.  Soon  another  shell 
comes  and  smashes  our  house.  I  was  wounded.  Dazed 
with  fear,  my  cousin  and  myself  got  out  through  a 
window  from  the  cellar,  we  ran  across  fields  and 
meadows  to  another  uncle,  where  the  rest  of  the 
family  followed  us  soon.  We  remained  there  the 
whole  winter,  but  what  a  sad  winter!  We  have  not 
taken  off  our  clothes,  for  at  every  moment  we  feared 
to  have  to  run  away  again. 

''The  big  guns  rumbled  very  much  and  the  shells 
whistled  over  our  heads.  Every  one  heard :  'So-and- 
so  is  killed'  or  'wounded,  by  a  shell.'  'Such-and-such- 
a-house  is  ruined  by  a  shell.' 

"After  having  spent  more  than  seven  months  in 
incredible  fear,  my  brothers  and  myself  have  left  the 
village,  at  the  order  of  the  gendarmes,  and  the  Eng- 


178  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

lish  took  us  to  Hazebrouck,  from  where  we  went  to 
Paris." 

In  some  cases  the  parents,  or,  as  was  most  generally 
the  case,  the  mother,  after  many  terrifying  experi- 
ences in  her  village,  passed  and  repassed  by  the  Ger- 
mans, having  heard  of  the  relief  stations  in  Paris,  sent 
their  children,  properly  tagged,  to  be  cared  for  in  a 
place  of  comparative  safety  until  the  end  of  the  war. 
Young  Bruno  Van  Wonterghem  told  his  experience  in 
characteristically  simple  words: 

"Towards  the  evening  of  September  6th,  1914,  the 
Germans  arrived  at  our.  village  with  their  ammuni- 
tion. One  would  have  thought  the  Last  Judgment  was 
about  to  begin.  All  the  inhabitants  were  hiding  in 
their  houses.  I  was  hiding  in  the  attic,  but,  desirous 
to  see  a  German,  I  was  looking  through  a  little  window 
in  the  roof.  Nobody  in  the  house  dared  to  go  to  bed. 
It  was  already  very  late  when  we  heard  knocks  at  the 
door  of  our  shop.  It  was  some  Germans  who  wanted 
to  buy  chocolate.  Some  paid  but  the  majority  did  not. 
They  left  saying,  'Let  us  kill  the  French.'  The  fol- 
lowing morning  they  marched  away  toward  France. 
In  the  evening  one  heard  already  the  big  guns  in  the 
distance. 

"Turned  out  of  France  the  Germans  came  to  St. 
Eloi,  where  they  remained  very  long.  Then  they  ad- 
vanced to  Ypres.  The  whole  winter  I  heard  the 
rumbling  of  the  big  guns,  and  the  whistling  of  the 
shells.  I  learned  also  every  day  of  the  sad  deaths  of 
the  victims  of  that  awful  war.  I  was  often  very 


ONE  OF  THE  MOTHERLESS        179 

frightened  and  I  have  been  very  happy  to  leave  for 
France  with  my  companions." 

While  I  was  in  Paris  the  refugee  children,  of  course, 
were  from  the  invaded  districts  of  France;  the  Bel- 
gian stream  had  long  since  ceased.  Already  twelve 
hundred  little  victims  of  the  first  months  of  the  war, 
both  Belgian  and  French,  either  had  been  returned  to 
their  mothers  or  relatives  by  the  Franco-American 
Committee,  or  placed  for  the  educational  period  of 
their  lives  in  families,  convents,  or  boys'  schools.  The 
more  recent  were  still  in  the  various  colonies  estab- 
lished by  Mrs.  Hill  and  the  other  members  of  the 
Committee,  where  they  received  instruction  until  such 
time  as  their  parents  could  be  found,  or  some  kind 
people  were  willing  to  adopt  them. 

It  was  on  my  first  Sunday  in  Paris  that  Mr.  Jaccaci 
and  Mrs.  Hill  asked  me  to  drive  out  with  them  to 
Versailles  and  visit  a  sanitorium  for  the  children 
whose  primary  need  was  restoration  to  health.  It  was 
on  the  estate  of  Madame  Philip  Berard,  who  had  con- 
tributed the  building,  while  the  entire  funds  for  its 
upkeep,  including  a  trained  nurse,  were  provided  by 
Mrs.  Bliss. 

Versailles  was  as  green  and  peaceful  as  if  a  few 
miles  away  the  shells  were  not  ripping  up  a  field  a 
shot.  After  lunch  in  the  famous  hotel  ordinarily  one 
of  the  gayest  in  France  at  that  time  of  the  year,  we 
first  visited  the  rest  hospital  of  Miss  Morgan,  Miss 
Marbury  and  Miss  de  Wolfe,  and  then  drove  out  into 
the  country  to  Madame  Berard's  historical  estate. 


i8o  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

Here,  in  the  courtyard  of  a  good-sized  building,  we 
were  greeted  by  about  forty  children  in  pink-and- 
white  gingham  aprons,  and  heads  either  shaved  or 
finished  off  with  tightly  braided  pigtails.  It  seemed 
to  me  then  that  they  were  all  smiling,  and — for  they 
had  been  there  some  weeks — that  most  of  them  looked 
round  and  healthy.  But  I  soon  found  that  some  were 
still  too  languid  to  play.  One  lying  in  a  long  chair 
on  the  terrace  at  the  back  of  the  house  and  gazing 
vacantly  out  at  the  beautiful  woods  was  tubercular, 
the  victim  of  months  in  a  damp  cellar.  Another,  al- 
though so  excessively  cheerful  that  I  suspect  she  was 
not  "all  there"  was  also  confined  to  a  long  chair,  with 
a  hip  affection  of  some  sort,  but  she  was  much  petted, 
and  surrounded  by  all  the  little  luxuries  that  the  vic- 
tims of  her  smile  had  remembered  to  send  her.  One 
beautiful  child  had  the  rickets,  and  several  suffered 
from  intestinal  prolapsus  and  other  internal  com- 
plaints, but  were  on  the  road  to  recovery. 

While  their  Swedish  nurse  was  putting  them 
through  their  gymnastic  exercises  I  studied  their  faces. 
At  first  my  impression  was  one  of  prevailing  homeli- 
ness; scrubbed,  flat,  peasant  faces,  for  the  most  part, 
without  the  features  or  the  mental  apparatus  that  pro- 
vides expression.  But  soon  I  singled  out  two  or  three 
pretty  and  engaging  children,  and  rarely  one  whose 
face  was  devoid  of  character.  And  they  stood  well 
and  went  through  their  exercises  with  precision  and 
vigor. 

It  was  just  before  we  left  that  my  wandering  atten- 


ONE  OF  THE  MOTHERLESS        181 

j 

tion  was  directed  toward  the  scene  to  which  I  alluded 
in  my  first  paragraph.  The  greater  number  of  the 
children  were  shouting  at  play  in  a  neighboring  field. 
The  preternaturally  happy  invalid  was  smiling  at  the 
lovely  woods  beyond  the  terrace,  woods  where  little 
princes  had  frolicked,  and  older  princes  had  wooed 
and  won.  Mr.  Jaccaci  was  still  petting  the  beautiful 
little  boy  who  looked  like  the  bambino  on  the  cele- 
brated fresco  of  Florence;  Mrs.  Hill  was  kissing  and 
hugging  several  little  girls  who  had  clung  to  her  skirts. 
It  was,  in  spite  of  its  origin,  a  happy  scene. 

I  had  been  waiting  by  the  door  for  these  ceremonies 
of  affection  to  finish,  when  I  happened  to  glance  at 
the  far  end  of  the  wide  stone  terrace.  There,  by  the 
balustrade,  in  the  shadow  of  the  leafy  woods,  stood 
a  girl  of  perhaps  eight  or  ten.  Her  arms  hung  at  her 
sides  and  she  was  staring  straight  before  her  while  she 
cried  as  I  never  have  seen  a  child  cry ;  silently,  bitterly, 
with  her  heavy  plain  face  hardly  twisted  in  its  tragic 
silent  woe. 

I  called  Mrs.  Hill's  attention  to  her,  for  I,  a  stranger, 
could  not  intrude  upon  a  grief  like  that,  and  the  idol 
of  all  those  children  immediately  ran  over  to  the  deso- 
late figure.  She  questioned  her,  she  put  her  arms 
about  her.  She  might  as  well  have  addressed  one  of 
the  broken  stone  nymphs  in  the  woods.  That  young 
mind,  startled  from  the  present,  it  may  be,  by  witness- 
ing the  endearments  lavished  upon  prettier  and  smaller 
children,  had  traveled  far.  She  was  in  the  past,  a 
past  that  anteceded  even  that  past  of  death  and  thun- 


182  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

dering  guns  and  rocking  walls  and  empty  stomachs; 
a  past  when  the  war,  of  whose  like  she  had  never 
heard,  was  still  in  the  sleepless  brains  of  the  monster 
criminals  of  history,  when  she  lived  in  a  home  in  a 
quiet  village  with  the  fields  beyond ;  where  she  had  a 
mother,  a  father,  sisters,  brothers;  where  her  tears 
had  been  over  childish  disappointments,  and  her 
mother  had  dried  them.  Small  and  homely  and  in- 
significant she  stood  there  in  her  tragic  detachment  the 
symbol  of  all  the  woe  of  France,  and  of  the  depraved 
brutality  of  a  handful  of  ambitious  men  who  had 
broken  the  heart  of  the  world. 


XV 
THE  MARRAINES 

IT  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  every  woman  in 
France,  from  noblesse  to  peasant,  has  her  filleul 
(godson)  in  the  trenches;  in  many  cases,  when  she 
still  has  a  considerable  income  in  spite  of  taxes, 
moratoriums,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  she  is  a  marraine 
on  the  grand  scale  and  has  several  hundred.  Chil- 
dren have  their  filleul,  correspond  with  him,  send  him 
little  presents  several  times  a  month  and  weep  bitterly 
when  word  comes  that  he  is  deep  in  his  last  trench. 

Servants  save  their  wages  so  that  when  the  filleuls 
of  their  mistresses  come  home  on  their  six  days'  leave 
they  at  least  can  provide  the  afternoon  wine  and  en- 
tertain them  royally  in  the  kitchen.  Old  maids,  stil! 
sewing  in  their  attic  for  a  few  sous  a  day,  have  found 
a  gleam  of  brightness  for  the  first  time  in  their  somber 
lives  in  the  knowledge  that  they  give  a  mite  of  com- 
fort or  pleasure  to  some  unknown  man,  offering  hi? 
life  in  the  defence  of  France,  and  whose  letters,  sen- 
timental, effusive,  playful,  almost  resign  these  poor 
stranded  women  to  the  crucifixion  of  their  country. 

Busy  women  like  Madame  d'Andigne  sit  up  until 
two  in  the  morning  writing  to  their  grateful  filleuls. 
Girls,  who  once  dreamed  only  of  marrying  and  living 

183 


184  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

the  brilliant  life  of  the  fcmme  du  monde  spend  hours 
daily  not  only  on  cheerful  letters,  but  knitting,  sew- 
ing, embroidering,  purchasing  for  humble  men  who 
will  mean  nothing  to  their  future,  beyond  the  growth 
of  spirit  they  unconsciously  induced.  Poor  women 
far  from  Paris,  where,  at  least,  thousands  of  these 
permissionnaires  linger  for  a  few  hours  on  their  way 
home,  toil  all  night  over  their  letters  to  men  for  whom 
they  conceive  a  profound  sentiment  but  never  can 
hope  to  see.  Shop  girls  save  their  wages  and  lady's 
maids  pilfer  in  a  noble  cause. 

It  was  Madame  Berard  (who  was  a  Miss  Dana  of 
Boston)  who  organized  this  magnificent  spirit  into  a 
great  ceuvre,  so  that  thousands  of  men  could  be  made 
happy  whom  no  kindly  woman  so  far  had  been  able 
to  discover. 

Madame  Berard,  who  has  three  sons  in  the  army 
herself,  nursed  at  the  Front  for  several  months  after 
the  war  broke  out.  Even  officers  told  her  that  they 
used  to  go  off  by  themselves  and  cry  because  they 
never  received  a  letter,  or  any  sort  of  reminder  that 
they  were  anything  but  part  of  a  machine  defending 
France.  These  officers,  of  course,  were  from  the  in- 
vaded district,  and  in  addition  to  their  isolation,  were 
haunted  by  fears  for  their  women  now  in  the  power 
of  men  who  were  as  cruel  as  they  were  sensual  and 
degenerate. 

When  she  returned  to  her  home  she  immediately 
entered  upon  the  career  of  marraine,  corresponding 
with  several  hundred  of  the  men  she  either  had  known 


THE  MARRAINES  185 

or  whose  names  were  given  to  her  by  their  com- 
manding officers.  Naturally  the  work  progressed  be- 
yond her  capacity  and  she  called  upon  friends  to  help 
her  out.  Out  of  this  initial  and  purely  personal  de- 
votion grew  the  great  ceuvre,  Mon  Soldat,  which  has 
met  with  such  a  warm  response  in  this  country. 

Madame  Berard's  headquarters  are  in  a  villa  in 
the  Pare  Monceau.  Here  is  conducted  all  the  cor- 
respondence with  the  agents  in  other  cities,  here  come 
thousands  of  letters  and  presents  by  every  mail  to  be 
forwarded  to  the  Front,  and  here  come  the  grateful — 
and  hopeful — permissionnaires,  who  never  depart 
without  a  present  and  sometimes  leave  one,  generally 
an  ingenious  trinket  made  in  the  trenches. 

When  I  visited  the  villa  last  summer  the  ceuvre  had 
eight  thousand  marraines,  and  no  doubt  the  number 
has  doubled  to-day.  Fifteen  hundred  of  these  were 
American,  marshalled  by  Madame  Berard's  represen- 
tative in  New  York,  Mr.  R.  W.  Neeser.  Some  of 
these  fairy  godmothers  had  ten  filleuls.  Packages 
were  dispatched  to  the  Front  every  week.  Women 
that  could  not  afford  presents  wrote  regularly.  There 
were  at  that  time  over  twenty  thousand  filleuls. 

The  letters  received  from  these  men  of  all  grades 
must  be  a  source  of  psychologic  as  well  as  sympa- 
thetic interest  to  the  more  intelligent  marraines,  for 
when  the  men  live  long  enough  they  reveal  much  of 
their  native  characteristics  between  the  formalities  so 
dear  to  the  French.  But  too  many  of  them  write  but 
one  letter,  and  sometimes  they  do  not  finish  that. 


WHAT  the  bereft  mothers  of  France  will  do  after 
this  war  is  over  and  they  no  longer  have  the 
mutilated  sons  of  other  mothers  to  nurse  and  serve 
and  work  for,  is  a  problem  for  themselves;  but  what 
the  younger  women  will  do  is  a  problem  for  the  men. 

Practically  every  day  of  the  three  months  I  spent 
in  Passy  I  used  one  of  the  three  lines  of  tramcars 
that  converge  at  La  Muette  (it  is  almost  immoral 
to  take  a  taxi  these  days)  ;  and  I  often  amused  myself 
watching  the  women  conductors.  They  are  quick, 
keen,  and  competent,  but,  whether  it  was  owing  to 
the  dingy  black  uniforms  and  distressingly  unbecom- 
ing Scotch  military  cap  or  not,  it  never  did  occur  to 
me  that  there  would  be  any  mad  scramble  for  them 
when  the  men  of  France  once  more  found  the  leisure 
for  love  and  marriage. 

Grim  as  these  women  looked,  however,  "on  their 
job,"  I  often  noticed  them  laughing  and  joking  when, 
off  duty  for  a  few  moments,  they  rested  under  the 
trees  at  the  terminus.  No  doubt  there  is  in  them  that 
ineradicable  love  of  the  home  so  characteristic  of 

186 


PROBLEMS  FOR  THE  FUTURE     187 

the  French  race,  and  as  there  is  little  beauty  in  their 
class  at  the  best,  they  may  appeal  more  to  the  taste  of 
men  of  that  class  than  they  did  to  mine.  And  it  may 
be  that  those  who  are  already  provided  with  husbands 
will  cheerfully  renounce  work  in  their  favor  and  re- 
turn to  the  hearthstone.  Perhaps,  however,  they  will 
not,  and  wise  heads  of  the  sex  which  has  ruled  the 
world  so  long  are  conferring  at  odd  moments  upon 
these  and  other  females  who  have  taken  up  so  many 
of  the  reins  laid  down  by  men  and  driven  the  man- 
made  teams  with  a  success  that  could  not  be  more 
complete  if  they  had  been  bred  to  it,  and  with  a  relish 
that  has  grown,  and  shows  no  sign  of  retroaction. 

The  French  women  of  the  people,  however,  unlovely 
to  look  upon,  toil-worn,  absorbed  from  childhood  in 
petty  economics,  have  little  to  tempt  men  outside  of 
the  home  in  which  they  reign,  so  for  those  that  do 
return  the  problem  ends.  But  it  is  an  altogether  dif- 
ferent matter  with  the  women  of  the  leisure  classes. 
The  industrial  women  who  have  proved  so  competent 
in  the  positions  occupied  for  centuries  by  men  merely 
agitate  the  economic  brain  of  France,  but  the  future 
of  the  women  of  the  upper  strata  of  the  bourgeoisie 
is  shaking  the  very  soul  of  the  social  psychologist. 


n 

At  the  outbreak  of  the  war  hundreds  of  girls  be- 
longing to  the  best  families  volunteered  as  nurses. 
Some  quickly  retired  to  committee  work  in  disgust, 


i88  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

or  because  their  pampered  bodies  rebelled  under  the 
strain. 

Others  have  never  faltered,  doing  the  most  repul- 
sive and  arduous  work  day  by  day,  close  to  the  thunder 
of  guns,  or  under  the  constant  menace  of  the  taube 
whose  favorite  quarry  is  the  hospital  full  of  ill  and 
wounded,  and  of  pretty  women  whose  torn  bodies  even 
in  imagination  satisfy  the  perversities  of  German  lust; 
but  if  they  ever  go  home  to  rest  it  is  under  the  peremp- 
tory orders  of  their  medecin  major,  who  has  no  use 
for  shattered  nervous  systems  these  days. 

While  these  girls  may  have  lost  their  illusions  a 
little  earlier  than  they  would  in  matrimony,  the  re- 
sult is  not  as  likely  to  affect  the  practical  French  mind 
toward  the  married  state  as  it  might  that  of  the  more 
romantic  and  self-deluding  American  or  English 
woman.  There  is  little  doubt  that  they  will  marry  if 
they  can,  for  to  marry  and  marry  early  has  been  for 
too  many  centuries  a  sort  of  religious  duty  with  well- 
born French  women  to  be  eradicated  by  one  war; 
and  as  they  will  meet  in  hospital  wards  many  offi- 
cers who  might  not  otherwise  cross  their  narrow 
paths,  their  chances,  if  the  war  ends  soon  enough,  will 
be  reasonably  increased. 

Moreover,  many  a  man  who  was  a  confirmed  bache- 
lor will,  after  the  acute  discomfort  of  years  of  war- 
fare, look  upon  the  married  state  as  a  greater  reward 
than  the  medals  on  his  breast;  and  on  the  other  hand 
many  girls  will  be  glad  to  marry  men  old  enough  to 
be  a  parent  of  the  young  husband  they  once  dreamed 


PROBLEMS  FOR  THE  FUTURE     189 

i 

of;  for  hardly  since  the  Thirty  Years'  War  will  men 
when  peace  comes  be  so  scarce  and  women  so  many. 

There  has  even  been  talk  from  time  to  time  of 
bringing  the  Koranic  law  across  the  Mediterranean 
and  permitting  each  able-bodied  Frenchman  of  any 
class  to  have  three  registered  wives  besides  the  one 
of  his  choice,  the  additional  expense  and  responsibil- 
ity being  borne  by  the  State. 

But  of  all  the  countries  in  Europe  polygamy  is 
most  unthinkable  in  France.  The  home  is  as  per- 
fected and  as  sacred  an  economic  institution  as  the 
State.  To  reign  over  one  of  those  important  units, 
even  if  deep  in  the  shadow  of  the  expansive  male, 
to  maintain  it  on  that  high  level  of  excellence  which 
in  the  aggregate  does  so  much  to  maintain  France  at 
the  very  apex  of  civilization,  in  spite  of  another  code 
which  shocks  Anglo-Saxon  morality — this,  combined 
with  the  desire  to  gratify  the  profoundest  instincts 
of  woman,  is  the  ambition  of  every  well-conditioned 
French  girl. 

She  would  far  rather,  did  the  demand  of  the  State 
for  male  children  become  imperative,  give  it  one  or 
more  outside  the  law  rather  than  forfeit  her  chance 
to  find  one  day  a  real  husband  and  to  be  a  component 
part  of  that  great  national  institution,  The  Family. 
She  would  not  feel  in  the  same  class  for  a  moment 
with  the  women  who  live  to  please  men  and  refrain 
from  justifying  themselves  by  fulfilling  at  the  same 
time  a  duty  to  their  depleted  State. 


190  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

in 

The  women  of  the  noblesse,  like  the  aristocracies 
of  any  country,  and  whatever  the  minor  shadings  and 
classifications,  are  divided  into  two  classes :  the  con- 
servative, respectable,  home-loving,  no  matter  what 
the  daily  toll  to  rank;  and  the  devotees  of  dress, 
pleasure,  sex,  subdivided,  orchestrated,  and  romanti- 
cized. As  these  women  move  in  the  most  brilliant  so- 
ciety in  the  world  and  can  command  the  willing  at- 
tendance of  men  in  all  circles;  as  their  husbands  are 
so  often  foraging  far  afield;  and  as  temptation  is 
commonly  proportionate  to  opportunity,  little  wonder 
that  the  Parisian  femme  du  monde  is  the  most  notable 
disciple  of  Earth's  politer  form  of  hedonism. 

This  is  true  to  only  a  limited  extent  in  the  upper 
circles  of  the  bourgeoisie.  Some  of  the  women  of  the 
wealthier  class  dress  magnificently,  have  their  lovers 
and  their  scandals  (in  what  class  do  they  not?),  and 
before  the  war  danced  the  night  away.  But  the 
great  majority  rarely  wandered  far  from  their  domes- 
tic kingdom,  quite  content  with  an  occasional  ball, 
dinner,  or  play.  A  daughter's  marriage  was  the  great- 
est event  in  their  lives,  and  the  endless  preparations 
throughout  the  long  engagement,  a  subdued  but  delic- 
ious period  of  excitement.  Their  social  circles,  what- 
ever their  birth,  were  extremely  restricted,  and  they 
were,  above  all  things,  the  mates  of  their  husbands. 


PROBLEMS  FOR  THE  FUTURE     191 

IV 

But  the  war  has  changed  all  that.  France  has  had 
something  like  a  war  a  generation  from  time  imme- 
morial, but  in  modern  times,  since  woman  has  found 
herself,  they  have  been  brief.  Feminism,  whether 
approved  by  the  great  mass  of  Frenchwomen  or  not, 
has  done  its  insidious  work.  And  for  many  years 
now  there  has  been  the  omnipresent  American  woman 
with  her  careless  independence;  and,  still  more  re- 
cently, the  desperate  fight  of  the  English  women  for 
liberty. 

It  was  quite  natural  when  this  war  swept  across 
Europe  like  a  fiery  water-spout,  for  the  French  woman 
of  even  the  bourgeoisie  to  come  forth  from  her  shell 
(although  at  first  not  to  the  same  degree  as  the 
noblesse)  and  work  with  other  women  for  the  men 
at  the  Front  and  the  starving  at  home.  Not  only 
did  the  racing  events  of  those  first  weeks  com- 
pel immediate  action,  but  the  new  ideas  they  had  im- 
bibed, however  unwillingly,  dictated  their  course  as  in- 
evitably as  that  of  the  more  experienced  women  across 
the  channel.  The  result  was  that  these  women  for 
the  first  time  in  their  narrow  intensive  lives  found 
themselves  meeting,  daily,  women  with  whom  they  had 
had  the  most  distant  if  any  acquaintance;  sewing, 
knitting,  talking  more  and  more  intimately  over  their 
work,  running  all  sorts  of  ceuvres,  founding  homes  for 
refugees,  making  up  packages  for  prisoners  in  Ger- 
many (this  ceuvre  was  conceived  and  developed  into 


192  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

an  immense  organization  by  Madame  Wallestein), 
serving  on  six  or  eight  committees,  becoming  more 
and  more  interdependent  as  they  worked  for  a  com- 
mon and  unselfish  cause;  their  circle  of  acquaintances 
and  friends  increasing  as  well  as  their  powers  of  use- 
fulness; their  independent  characteristics  which  go  so 
far  toward  the  making  of  personality,  rising  higher 
and  higher  under  the  impetus  of  deprisoned  tides  until 
they  flowed  gently  over  the  dam  of  the  centuries;  the 
flood,  be  it  noted,  taking  possession  of  wide  pastures 
heretofore  sacred  to  man. 

Naturally  these  women  spent  very  little  time  at 
home;  although,  such  is  the  incomparable  training  of 
those  practical  methodical  minds,  even  with  a  dimin- 
ished staff  of  servants  the  domestic  machinery  ran  as 
smoothly  as  when  they  devoted  to  it  so  many  super- 
fluous hours. 

And  with  these  new  acquaintances,  all  practically 
of  their  own  class,  they  talked  in  time  not  only  of 
the  war  and  their  ever  augmenting  duties,  but,  bar- 
riers lowered  by  their  active  sympathies,  found  them- 
selves taking  a  deep  interest  in  other  lives,  and  in 
the  things  that  had  interested  other  women  of  more 
intelligence  or  of  more  diversified  interests  than  their 
own. 

Insensibly  life  changed,  quite  apart  from  the  rude 
shocks  of  war;  lines  were  confused,  old  ideals  were 
analyzed  in  many  instances  as  hoary  conventions, 
which  had  decayed  inside  until  a  succession  of  sharp 


PROBLEMS  FOR  THE  FUTURE     193 

quick  contacts  caused  the  shell  to  cave  in  upon  empti- 
ness. 


A  year  passed.  During  that  time  husbands  did  not 
return  from  the  front  unless  ill  or  maimed  (and  thou- 
sands of  husbands  are  even  to-day  quite  intact).  Then 
came  Chapter  Two  of  the  domestic  side  of  the  War, 
which  should  be  called  "Les  Permissionnaires."  Offi- 
cers and  soldiers  were  allowed  a  six  days'  leave  of 
absence  from  the  front  at  stated  intervals. 

The  wives  were  all  excitement  and  hope.  They 
snatched  time  to  replenish  their  wardrobes,  and  once 
more  the  thousand  corridors  of  the  Galeries  Lafayette 
swarmed,  the  dressmakers  breathed  again.  Shop  win- 
dows blossomed  with  all  the  delicate  fripperies  with 
which  a  Frenchwoman  can  make  old  garments  look 
new.  Hotel  keepers  emerged  from  their  long  night 
like  hibernates  that  had  overslept,  and  rubbing  their 
hands.  The  men  were  coming  back.  Paris  would 
live  again.  And  Paris,  the  coquette  of  all  the  ages, 
forgot  her  new  role  of  lady  of  sorrows  and  smiled 
once  more. 

The  equally  eager  husband  (to  pass  over  "les 
atttres")  generally  sneaked  into  his  house  or  apart- 
ment by  the  back  stairs  and  into  the  bathtub  before 
he  showed  himself  to  his  adoring  family;  but  after 
those  first  strenuous  hours  of  scrubbing  and  disinfect- 
ing and  shaving,  and  getting  into  a  brand  new  uni- 
form of  becoming  horizon  blue,  there  followed  hours 


194  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

of  rejoicing  unparalleled  by  anything  but  a  victory 
over  "Les  Bodies." 

For  two  days  husband  and  wife  talked  as  incessantly 
as  only  Gauls  can ;  but  by  degrees  a  puzzled  look  con- 
tracted the  officer's  brow,  gradually  deepening  into  a 
frown.  His  fluent  wife,  whose  animation  over  trifles 
had  always  been  a  source  of  infinite  refreshment,  was 
talking  of  things  which  he,  after  a  solid  year  of  monot- 
onous warfare  far  from  home,  knew  nothing.  He 
cared  to  know  less.  He  wanted  the  old  exchange  of 
personalities,  the  dear  domestic  gabble. 

The  wife  meanwhile  was  heroically  endeavoring  to 
throw  off  a  feeling  of  intolerable  ennui.  How  was  it 
that  never  before  had  she  found  the  hearthstone  dull  ? 
The  conversation  of  her  life  partner  (now  doubly 
honored)  induced  a  shameful  longing  for  the  seventh 
day. 

So  it  was.  During  that  year  these  two  good  people 
had  grown  apart.  The  wife's  new  friends  bored  the 
husband,  and  the  gallant  soldier's  stories  of  life  at 
the  Front  soon  became  homogeneous.  Whether  he 
will  accept  his  wife's  enlarged  circle  and  new  interests 
after  the  war  is  over  is  one  of  the  problems,  but  noth- 
ing is  less  likely  than  that  she  will  rebuild  the  dam, 
recall  the  adventurous  waters  of  her  personality, 
empty  her  new  brain  cells,  no  matter  hovr  much  she 
may  continue  to  love  her  husband  and  children. 


PROBLEMS  FOR  THE  FUTURE      195 

VI 

Nor  to  give  up  her  new  power.  In  those  divisions 
of  the  bourgeoisie  where  the  wife  is  always  the  hus- 
band's partner,  following  a  custom  of  centuries,  and 
who  to-day  is  merely  carrying  on  the  business  alone, 
there  will  be  no  surrender  of  responsibilities  grown 
precious,  no  sense  of  apprehension  of  loss  of  personal 
power.  But  in  those  more  leisured  circles  where,  for 
instance,  a  woman  has  been  for  the  first  time  complete 
mistress  of  all  expenditures,  domestic  or  administra- 
tive, and  of  her  childrens'  destinies;  has  learned  to 
think  and  act  for  herself  as  if  she  were  widowed  in 
fact ;  and  in  addition  has  cultivated  her  social  sense  to 
an  extreme  unprecedented  in  the  entire  history  of  the 
bourgeoisie,  she  will  never  return  to  the  old  status, 
even  though  she  disdain  feminism  per  se  and  continue 
to  prefer  her  husband  to  other  men — that  is  to  say,  to 
find  him  more  tolerable. 

A  young  woman  of  this  class,  who  until  the  war 
widowed  her  had  been  as  happy  as  she  was  favored 
by  fortune:  wealthy,  well-bred,  brilliantly  educated, 
and  "elle  et  lui"  with  her  husband,  told  me  that  no 
American  could  understand  the  peculiarly  intensive 
life  led  by  a  French  couple  who  found  happiness  in 
each  other  and  avoided  the  fast  sets.  And  whereas 
what  she  told  me  would  have  seemed  natural  enough 
in  the  life  of  a  petite  bourgeoisie,  I  must  confess  I 
was  amazed  to  have  it  from  the  lips  of  a  clever  and 


196  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

beautiful  young  woman  whom  life  had  pampered  until 
death  broke  loose  in  Europe. 

The  husband,  she  told  me,  did  the  thinking.  Before 
he  left  home  in  the  morning  he  asked  his  wife  what 
she  intended  to  order  for  dinner  and  altered  the  menu 
to  his  liking;  also  the  list  of  guests,  if  it  had  been 
thought  well  to  vary  their  charming  routine  with  a 
select  company. 

Before  his  wife  bought  a  new  gown  she  submitted 
the  style  and  colors  to  what  seems  literally  to  have 
been  her  other  half,  and  he  solemnly  pondered  over 
both  before  pronouncing  his  august  and  final  opinion. 

If  they  had  children,  the  interest  was  naturally  ex- 
tended. His  concern  in  health  and  in  illness,  in  play 
and  in  study,  was  nothing  short  of  meticulous.  I 
asked  my  informant  if  Frenchwomen  would  ever  again 
submit  to  a  man's  making  such  an  infernal  nuisance 
of  himself,  and,  sad  as  she  still  was  at  her  own 
great  loss,  she  replied  positively  that  they  would  not. 
They  had  tasted  independence  and  liked  it  too  well 
ever  to  drop  back  into  insignificance. 

"Nor,"  she  added,  "will  we  be  content  with  merely 
social  and  domestic  life  in  the  future.  We  will  love 
our  home  life  none  the  less,  but  we  must  always  work 
at  something  now;  only  those  who  have  lost  their 
health,  or  are  natural  parasites  will  ever  again  be 
content  to  live  without  some  vital  personal  interest 
outside  the  family." 

Words  of  tremendous  import  to  France,  those. 


PROBLEMS  FOR  THE  FUTURE     197 

VII 

I  caught  a  glimpse  more  than  once  of  the  complete 
submergence  of  certain  Frenchwomen  by  husbands 
too  old  for  war,  but  important  in  matters  of  State. 
They  bored  me  so  that  I  only  escaped  betraying  acute 
misery  by  summoning  all  my  powers  of  resistance  and 
talking  against  time  until  I  could  make  a  graceful 
exit.  They  were,  these  women  (who  looked  quite 
happy),  mere  echoes  of  the  men  to  whom  their  eyes 
wandered  in  admiration  and  awe.  The  last  thing  I 
had  imagined,  however,  was  that  the  men  would  con- 
cern themselves  about  details  that,  in  Anglo-Saxon 
countries  at  least,  have  for  centuries  been  firmly  rele- 
gated to  the  partner  of  the  second  part.  How  many 
American  women  drive  their  husbands  to  the  club  by 
their  incessant  drone  about  the  iniquities  of  servants 
and  the  idiosyncrasies  of  offspring? 

And  much  as  the  women  of  our  race  may  resent 
that  their  role  in  matrimony  is  the  one  of  petty  detail 
while  the  man  enjoys  the  "broader  interests,"  I  think 
few  of  us  would  exchange  our  lot  for  one  of  con- 
stant niggling  interference.  It  induces  a  certain  pleas- 
ure to  reflect  that  so  many  Frenchwomen  have  re- 
formed. Frenchmen,  with  all  their  conservatism,  are 
the  quickest  of  wit,  the  most  supple  of  intellect  in 
the  world.  No  doubt  after  a  few  birth-pains  they 
will  conform,  and  enjoy  life  more  than  ever.  Per- 
haps, also,  they  will  cease  to  prowl  abroad  for  secret 
entertainment. 


198  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

VIII 

Nothing,  it  is  safe  to  say,  since  the  war  broke  out, 
has  so  astonished  Frenchwomen — those  that  loved 
their  husbands  and  those  that  loved  their  lovers — as 
the  discovery  that  "they  find  life  quite  full  and  in- 
teresting without  men.  At  the  beginning  all  their  fac- 
ulties were  put  to  so  severe  a  strain  that  they  had  no 
time  to  miss  them;  as  France  settled  down  to  a  state 
of  war,  and  life  was  in  a  sense  normal  again,  it  was 
only  at  first  they  missed  the  men — quite  aside  from 
their  natural  anxieties.  But  as  time  went  on  and  there 
was  no  man  always  coming  in,  husband  or  lover,  no 
man  to  dress  for,  scheme  for,  exercise  their  imagin- 
ations to  please,  weep  for  when  he  failed  to  come,  or 
lapsed  from  fever  heat  to  that  temperature  which  sug- 
gests exotic  fevers,  they  missed  him  less  and  less. 

Unexpected  resources  were  developed.  Their  work, 
their  many  works,  grew  more  and  more  absorbing. 
Gradually  they  realized  that  they  were  looking  at  life 
from  an  entirely  different  point  of  view. 

Voila! 

Is  the  reign  of  the  male  in  the  old  countries  of 
Europe  nearing  its  end,  even  as  Kings  and  Kaisers 
are  reluctantly  approaching  the  vaults  of  history  ?  An 
American  woman  married  to  a  Frenchman  said  to  me 
one  day : 

"Intelligent  Frenchwomen  complain  to  me  that  they 
never  win  anything  on  their  merits.  They  must  exert 
finesse,  seduction,  charm,  magnetism.  For  this  rea- 


199 

son  they  are  always  in  a  state  of  apprehension  that 
some  other  woman  equally  feminine,  but  more  astute 
and  captivating,  will  win  their  man  away.  The  result 
is  the  intense  and  unremitting  jealousies  in  French 
society.  They  see  in  this  war  their  opportunity  to 
show  men  not  only  their  powers  of  individual  useful- 
ness, often  equal  if  not  superior  to  that  of  their  hus- 
band or  lover,  but  their  absolute  indispensability. 
They  are  determined  to  win  respect  as  individuals, 
rise  above  the  rank  of  mere  females." 


IX 

Moreover,  this  war  is  bringing  a  liberty  to  the 
French  girl  which  must  sometimes  give  her  the  im- 
pression that  she  is  living  in  a  fantastic  dream.  Young 
people  already  had  begun  to  rebel  at  the  old  order 
of  matrimonial  disposition  by  parental  authority,  but 
it  is  doubtful  if  they  will  ever  condescend  to  argu- 
ment again,  or  even  to  the  old  formal  restrictions 
during  the  period  of  the  long  engagement.  Not  only 
will  husbands  be  too  scarce  to  dicker  about,  but  these 
girls,  too,  are  living  their  own  lives,  going  to  and 
coming  from  hospital  work  daily  (unless  at  the 
Front),  spending  long  hours  by  convalescent  cots,  cor- 
responding with  filleuls,  attending  half  a  dozen  clubs 
for  work;  above  all,  entertaining  their  brothers' 
friend  during  those  oases  known  as  permission,  or 
six  days'  leave.  And  very  often  the  friends  of  their 
brothers  are  young  men  of  a  lower  rank  in  life,  whose 


200  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

valor  or  talents  in  the  field  have  given  them  a  quick 
promotion. 

The  French  army  is  the  one  perfect  democracy  in 
the  world.  Its  men,  from  duke  to  peasant-farmer, 
have  a  contemptuous  impatience  for  social  pretense 
when  about  the  business  of  war,  and  recognition  is 
swift  and  practical.  As  the  young  men  of  the  aristoc- 
racy and  haute  bourgeoisie  have  lost  more  and  more 
of  their  old  friends  they  have  replaced  them  with  men 
they  like  for  good  masculine  reasons  alone,  and  these 
they  have  taken  to  bringing  home,  when  permission- 
naires  at  the  same  time.  Nothing  can  be  more  certain 
than  that  girls,  once  haughty  and  exacting,  will  marry 
these  young  men  and  be  glad  to  get  them. 

A  student  of  his  race  said  to  me  one  day:  "France 
is  the  most  conservative  country  in  Europe.  She  goes 
on  doing  the  same  thing  generation  after  generation 
paying  no  attention  to  rebellious  mutters,  hardly  hear- 
ing them  in  fact.  She  believes  herself  to  have  been 
moulded  and  solidified  long  since.  Then,  presto! 
Something  sudden  and  violent  happens.  Old  ideas 
are  uprooted.  New  ones  planted.  Is  there  a  struggle  ? 
Not  for  a  moment.  They  turn  an  intellectual  somer- 
sault and  are  immediately  as  completely  at  home  with 
the  new  as  the  old." 

During  the  second  year  of  the  war  a  feminist  was 
actually  invited  to  address  the  graduation  class  of  a 
fashionable  girls'  school.  She  told  them  that  the 
time  had  come  when  girls  of  all  classes  should  be 
trained  to  earn  their  living.  This  war  had  demon- 


PROBLEMS  FOR  THE  FUTURE     201 

strated  the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs.  Not  a  fam- 
ily in  France,  not  even  the  haute  finance,  but  would 
have  a  curtailed  income  for  years  to  come,  and  many 
girls  of  good  family  could  no  longer  count  on  a  dot 
if  the  war  lasted  much  longer.  Then  there  was  the 
decrease  in  men.  Better  go  out  into  the  world  and 
make  any  sort  of  respectable  career  than  be  an  old 
maid  at  home.  She  gave  them  much  practical  advice, 
told  them  that  one  of  the  most  lucrative  employments 
was  retouching  photographs,  and  implored  them  to 
cultivate  any  talent  they  might  have  and  market  it  as 
soon  as  possible. 

The  girls  sat  throughout  this  discourse  as  stunned 
as  if  a  bomb  had  dropped  on  the  roof.  They  were 
still  discussing  it  when  I  left  Paris.  No  doubt  it  is 
already  beginning  to  bear  fruit.  Few  of  them  but 
have  that  most  dismal  of  all  fireside  ornaments,  a 
half -effaced  old-maid  sister,  one  of  the  most  tragic 
and  pitiable  objects  in  France.  The  noble  attributes 
which  her  drab  and  eventless  life  sometimes  leave  un- 
withered  were  superbly  demonstrated  to  the  American 
audience  some  years  ago  by  Nance  O'Neil  in  "The 
Lily." 


One  of  the  new  officers  I  happened  to  hear  of  was  a 
farmer  who  not  only  won  the  Croix  de  Guerre  and  the 
Croix  de  la  Legion  d'Honneur  very  early  in  the  war 
but  rose  in  rank  until,  when  I  heard  the  story,  he  was 
a  major.  One  day  a  brother  officer  asked  him  if  he 


202  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

should  remain  in  the  army  after  peace  was  declared. 

"No,"  he  replied,  and  it  was  evident  that  he  had 
thought  the  matter  over.  "My  wife  is  not  a  lady.  She 
is  wholly  unfitted  to  take  her  place  in  the  officers'  class. 
There  is  no  democracy  among  women.  Better  for  us 
both  that  I  return  whence  I  came." 

This  is  a  fair  sample  of  the  average  Frenchman's 
ironic  astuteness,  that  clear  practical  vision  that  sees 
life  without  illusions.  But  if  the  war  should  drag  on 
for  years  the  question  is,  would  he  be  willing  to  sur- 
render the  position  of  authority  to  which  he  had  grown 
accustomed,  and  which  satisfies  the  deepest  instincts 
of  a  man's  nature  after  youth  has  passed?  After  all 
there  may  be  a  new  "officers'  class." 

I  heard  another  story,  told  me  by  a  family  doctor, 
equally  interesting.  The  son  of  a  wealthy  and  aristo- 
cratic house  and  his  valet  were  mobilized  at  the  same 
time.  The  young  patrician  was  a  good  and  a  gallant 
soldier  but  nothing  more.  The  valet  discovered  ex- 
traordinary capacities.  Not  only  did  he  win  the  cov- 
eted medals  in  the  course  of  the  first  few  months,  but 
when  his  shattered  regiment  under  fire  in  the  open 
was  deprived  of  its  officers  he  took  command  and  led 
the  remnant  to  victory.  A  few  more  similar  per- 
formances proving  that  his  usefulness  was  by  no 
means  the  result  of  the  moment's  exaltation  but  of 
real  however  unsuspected  gifts,  he  was  rapidly  pro- 
moted until  he  was  captain  of  his  former  employer's 
company.  There  appears  to  have  been  no  mean  envy 
in  the  nature  of  the  less  fortunate  aristocrat.  Sev- 


PROBLEMS  OF  THE  FUTURE      203 

eral  times  they  have  received  their  permission  to- 
gether and  he  has  taken  his  old  servant  home  with 
him  and  given  him  the  seat  of  honor  at  his  own 
table.  His  mother  and  sisters  have  made  no  demur 
whatever,  but  are  proud  that  their  menage  should  have 
given  a  fine  soldier  to  France.  Perhaps  only  the  no- 
blesse who  are  unalterably  sure  of  themselves  would 
have  been  capable  of  rising  above  the  age-old  preju- 
dices of  caste,  war  or  no  war. 


XI 

French  women  rarely  emigrate.  Never,  if  they  can 
help  it.  Our  servant  question  may  be  solved  after  the 
war  by  the  manless  women  of  other  races,  but  the 
Frenchwoman  will  stay  in  her  country,  if  possible  in 
her  home.  All  girls,  the  major  part  of  the  young 
widows  (who  have  created  a  panic  among  the  little 
spinsters)  will  marry  if  they  can,  not  only  because 
marriage  is  still  the  normal  career  of  woman  but  be- 
cause of  their  sense  of  duty  to  the  State.  But  that 
social  France  after  the  war  will  bear  more  than  a 
family  resemblance  to  the  France  that  reached  the 
greatest  climax  in  her  history  on  August  second,  nine- 
teen-fourteen,  has  ceased  to  be  a  matter  of  speculation. 


Although  I  went  to  France  to  examine  the  work  of 
the  Frenchwomen  only,  it  would  be  ungracious,  as 
well  as  a  disappointment  to  many  readers,  not  to  give 


204  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

the  names  at  least  of  some  of  the  many  American 
women  who  live  in  France  or  who  spend  a  part  of 
the  year  there  and  are  working  as  hard  as  if  this  great 
afflicted  country  were  their  own.  Some  day  their 
names  will  be  given  to  the  world  in  a  full  roll  of 
honor.  I  do  not  feel  sure  that  I  know  of  half  of  them, 
but  I  have  written  down  all  I  can  recall.  The  list,  of 
course,  does  not  include  the  names  of  Americans  mar- 
ried to  Frenchmen: 

Mrs.  Sharp,  Miss  Anne  Morgan,  Mrs.  Tuck,  Mrs. 
Bliss,  Miss  Elisabeth  Marbury,  Miss  Elsie  de  Wolfe, 
Mrs.  Robert  Bacon,  Mrs.  W.  K.  Vanderbilt,  Mrs. 
Whitney  Warren,  Mrs.  Wharton,  Mrs.  Canfield  Fisher, 
Miss  Grace  Ellery  Channing,  Mrs.  Blake,  Mrs.  Car- 
roll of  Carrollton,  Mrs.  Sherman,  Mrs.  Cooper 
Hewett,  Miss  Holt,  Mrs.  William  H.  Hill,  Mrs.  Shaw, 
Mrs.  Frederick  H.  Allen,  Mrs.  Harry  Payne  Whit- 
ney, Miss  Fairchild,  Mrs.  Younger,  Mrs.  Morton 
Mitchell,  Mrs.  Fleury,  Mrs.  Sales,  Mrs.  Hyde,  Mrs. 
William  Astor  Chanler,  Mrs.  Ridgeley  Carter,  Miss 
Ethel  Crocker,  Miss  Daisy  Polk,  Miss  Janet  Scudder, 
Mrs.  Lathrop,  Miss  Vail,  Mrs.  Samuel  Watson,  Mrs. 
Armstrong  Whitney,  Mrs.  Lawrence  Slade,  Miss  Yan- 
dell,  Mrs.  Greene,  Mrs.  Duryea,  Mrs.  Depew,  Mrs. 
Marion  Crocker,  Miss  Mary  Eyre,  Mrs.  Gros,  Mrs. 
Van  Heukelom,  Mrs.  Tarn  McGrew,  Mrs.  Schoninger, 
Miss  Grace  Lounsbery,  Mrs.  Lawrence,  the  Princess 
Poniatowska,  and  Isadora  Duncan. 


BOOK  II 
FEMINISM  IN  PEACE  AND  WAR 

I 
THE  THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE 


IT  is  possible  that  if  the  European  War  had  been 
averted  the  history  of  Feminism  would  have  made 
far  different  reading — say  fifty  years  hence.  The 
militant  suffragettes  of  England  had  degenerated  from 
something  like  real  politicians  into  mere  neurasthenics 
and  not  only  had  lost  what  little  chance  they  seemed 
for  a  time  to  have  of  being  taken  seriously  by  the 
British  Government,  but  had  very  nearly  alienated 
the  many  thousands  of  women  without  the  ranks  that 
were  wavering  in  the  balance.  This  was  their  most 
serious  mistake,  for  the  chief  handicap  of  the  mili- 
tants had  been  that  too  few  women  were  disposed 
toward  suffrage,  or  even  interested.  The  history  of 
the  world  shows  that  when  any  large  body  of  people 
in  a  community  want  anything  long  enough  and  hard 
enough,  and  go  after  it  with  practical  methods,  they 
obtain  it  in  one  form  or  another.  But  the  women  of 

205 


206  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

Britain  as  well  as  the  awakening  women  of  other  na- 
tions east  and  west  of  the  Atlantic,  were  so  disgusted 
and  alarmed  by  this  persisting  lack  of  self-control  in 
embryonic  politicians  of  their  sex  that  they  voted 
silently  to  preserve  their  sanity  under  the  existing 
regime.  It  has  formed  one  of  the  secret  sources  of 
the  strength  of  the  antis,  that  fear  of  the  complete 
demoralization  of  their  sex  if  freed  from  the  imme- 
morial restraints  imposed  by  man. 

This  attitude  of  mind  does  not  argue  a  very  dis- 
tinguished order  of  reasoning  powers  or  of  clear 
thinking;  but  then  not  too  many  men,  in  spite  of  their 
centuries  of  uninterrupted  opportunity,  face  innova- 
tions or  radical  reforms  with  unerring  foresight. 
There  is  a  strong  conservative  instinct  in  the  average 
man  or  woman,  born  of  the  hereditary  fear  of  life, 
that  prompts  them  to  cling  to  old  standards,  or,  if  too 
intelligent  to  look  inhospitably  upon  progress,  to  move 
very  slowly.  Both  types  are  the  brakes  and  wheel- 
horses  necessary  to  a  stable  civilization,  but  history, 
even  current  history  in  the  newspapers,  would  be  dull 
reading  if  there  were  no  adventurous  spirits  willing  to 
do  battle  for  new  ideas.  The  militant  women  of  Eng- 
land would  have  accomplished  wonders  if  their  nervous 
systems  had  not  broken  down  under  the  prolonged 
strain. 

It  is  probable  that,  after  this  war  is  over  the  women 
of  the  belligerent  nations  will  be  given  the  franchise 
by  the  weary  men  that  are  left,  if  they  choose  to  insist 
upon  it.  They  have  shown  the  same  bravery,  endur- 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE    207 

ance,  self-sacrifice,  resource,  and  grim  determination 
as  the  men.  In  every  war,  it  may  be  argued,  women 
have  displayed  the  same  spirit  and  the  same  qualities, 
proving  that  they  needed  but  the  touchstone  of  oppor- 
tunity to  reveal  the  splendor  of  their  endowment,  but 
treated  by  man,  as  soon  as  peace  was  restored,  as  the 
same  old  inferior  annex. 

This  is  true  enough,  but  the  point  of  difference  is 
that  never,  prior  to  the  Great  War,  was  such  an  enor- 
mous body  of  women  awake  after  the  lethargic  sub- 
mission of  centuries,  and  clamoring  for  their  rights. 
Never  before  have  millions  of  women  been  supporting 
themselves;  never  before  had  they  even  contemplated 
organization  and  the  direct  political  attack.  Of  course 
the  women  of  Europe,  exalted  and  worked  half  to 
death,  have,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  irrepressibles, 
put  all  idea  of  self-aggrandizement  aside  for  the  mo- 
ment ;  but  this  idea  had  grown  too  big  and  too  domin- 
ant to  be  dismissed  for  good  and  all,  with  last  year's 
fashions  and  the  memory  of  delicate  plats  prepared  by 
chefs  now  serving  valiantly  within  the  lines.  The  big 
idea,  the  master  desire,  the  obsession,  if  you  like,  is 
merely  taking  an  enforced  rest,  and  there  is  persist- 
ent speculation  as  to  what  the  thinking  and  the  ener- 
getic women  of  Europe  will  do  when  this  war  is  over, 
and  how  far  men  will  help  or  hinder  them. 

I  have  written  upon  this  question  in  its  bearings 
upon  the  women  of  France  more  fully  in  another 
chapter ;  but  it  may  be  stated  here  that  such  important 
feminists  as  Madame  Verone,  the  eminent  avocat,  and 


2o8  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

Mile.  Valentine  Thompson,  the  youngest  but  one  of  the 
ablest  of  the  leaders,  while  doing  everything  to  help 
and  nothing  to  embarrass  their  Government,  never 
permit  the  question  to  recede  wholly  to  the  back- 
ground. Mile.  Thompson  argues  that  the  men  in 
authority  should  not  be  permitted  for  a  moment  to 
forget,  not  the  services  of  women  in  this  terrible 
chapter  of  France's  destiny,  for  that  is  a  matter  of 
course,  as  ever,  but  the  marked  capabilities  women 
have  shown  when  suddenly  thrust  into  positions  of 
authority.  In  certain  invaded  towns  the  wives  of  im- 
prisoned or  executed  Mayors  have  taken  their  place 
almost  automatically  and  served  with  a  capacity  unre- 
lated to  sex.  In  some  of  these  towns  women  have 
managed  the  destinies  of  the  people  since  the  first 
month  of  the  war,  understanding  them  as  no  man  has 
ever  done,  and  working  harder  than  most  men  are  ever 
willing  to  work.  Thousands  have,  under  the  spur, 
developed  unsuspected  capacities,  energies,  endurance, 
above  all  genuine  executive  abilities.  That  these 
women  should  be  swept  back  into  private  life  by  the 
selfishness  of  men  when  the  killing  business  is  over, 
is,  to  Mile.  Thompson's  mind,  unthinkable.  In  her 
newspaper,  La  Vie  Feminine,  she  gives  weekly  in- 
stances of  the  resourcefulness  and  devotion  of  French 
womanhood,  and  although  the  women  of  her  country 
have  never  taken  as  kindly  to  the  idea  of  demanding 
the  franchise  as  those  of  certain  other  nations,  still 
it  is  more  than  possible  that  she  will  make  many 
converts  before  the  war  is  over. 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE    209 

These  are  not  to  be  "suffrage"  chapters.  There  is 
no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  the  women  of  all  nations 
will  have  the  franchise  eventually,  if  only  because  it 
is  ridiculous  that  they  should  be  permitted  to  work 
like  men  (often  supporting  husbands,  fathers,  broth- 
ers) and  not  be  permitted  all  the  privileges  of  men. 
Man,  who  grows  more  enlightened  every  year — often 
sorely  against  his  will — must  appreciate  this  anomaly 
in  due  course,  and  by  degrees  will  surrender  the 
franchise  as  freely  to  women  as  he  has  to  negroes  and 
imbeciles.  When  women  have  received  the  vote  for 
which  they  have  fought  and  bled,  they  will  use  it  with 
just  about  the  same  proportion  of  conscientiousness 
and  enthusiasm  as  busy  men  do.  One  line  in  the  credo 
might  have  been  written  of  human  nature  A.D.  1914- 
1917:  "As  it  was  in  the  beginning,  is  now,  and  ever 
shall  be." 

But  while  suffrage  and  feminism  are  related,  they 
are  far  from  identical.  Suffrage  is  but  a  milestone 
in  feminism,  which  may  be  described  as  the  more  or 
less  concerted  sweep  of  women  from  the  backwaters 
into  the  broad  central  stream  of  life.  Having  for  un- 
told centuries  given  men  to  the  world  they  now  want 
the  world  from  men.  There  is  no  question  in  the 
progressive  minds  of  both  sexes  that,  outside  of  the 
ever-recurrent  war  zones,  they  should  hereafter  divide 
the  great  privileges  of  life  and  civilization  in  equal 
shares  with  men. 

Several  times  before  in  the  history  of  the  world 
comparatively  large  numbers  of  women  have  made 


210  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

themselves  felt,  claiming  certain  equal  rights  with  the 
governing  sex.  But  their  ambitions  were  generally 
confined  to  founding  religious  orders,  obtaining  ad- 
mission to  the  universities,  or  to  playing  the  intellect- 
ual game  in  the  social  preserves.  In  the  wonderful 
thirteenth  century  women  rivaled  men  in  learning  and 
accomplishments,  in  vigor  of  mind  and  decision  of 
character.  But  this  is  the  first  time  that  millions  of 
them  have  been  out  in  the  world  "on  their  own,"  in- 
vading almost  every  field  of  work,  for  centuries  sac- 
rosanct to  man.  There  is  even  a  boiler-maker  in  the 
United  States  who  worked  her  way  up  in  poor-boy 
fashion  and  now  attends  conventions  of  boiler-makers 
on  equal  terms.  In  tens  of  thousands  of  cases  women 
have  made  good,  in  the  arts,  professions,  trades,  busi- 
nesses, clerical  positions,  and  even  in  agriculture  and 
Battle  raising.  They  are  brilliant  aviators,  yachtsmen, 
automobile  drivers,  showing  failure  of  nerve  more 
rarely  than  men,  although,  as  they  are  not  engaged  in 
these  pursuits  in  equal  numbers  perhaps  that  is  not 
a  fair  statement.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  as  far  as  they 
have  gone  they  have  asked  for  no  quarter.  It  is  quite 
true  that  in  certain  of  the  arts,  notably  music,  they 
have  never  equaled  men,  and  it  has  been  held  against 
them  that  all  the  great  chefs  are  men.  Here  it  is 
quite  justifiable  to  take  refuge  in  the  venerable  axiom, 
"Rome  was  not  made  in  a  day."  It  is  not  what  they 
have  failed  to  accomplish  with  their  grinding  disabili- 
ties but  the  amazing  number  of  things  in  which  they 
have  shown  themselves  the  equal  if  not  the  superior 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE    211 

of  men.  Whether  their  success  is  to  be  permanent, 
or  whether  they  have  done  wisely  in  invading  man's 
domain  so  generally,  are  questions  to  be  attacked  later 
when  considering  the  biological  differences  between 
men  and  women.  The  most  interesting  problem  relat- 
ing to  women  that  confronts  us  at  present  is  the  effect 
of  the  European  War  on  the  whole  status  of  woman. 

If  the  war  ends  before  this  nation  is  engulfed 
we  shall  at  least  keep  our  men,  and  the  males  of 
this  country  are  so  far  in  excess  of  the  females  that 
it  is  odd  so  many  American  women  should  be  driven 
to  self-support.  In  Great  Britain  the  women  have 
long  outnumbered  the  men;  it  was  estimated  before 
the  war  that  there  were  some  three  hundred  thousand 
spinsters  for  whom  no  husbands  were  available.  After 
the  war  there  will  be  at  best  something  like  a  propor- 
tion of  one  whole  man  to  three  women  (confining 
these  unwelcome  prophecies  to  people  of  marriageable 
age)  ;  and  the  other  afflicted  countries,  with  the  possi- 
ble exception  of  Russia,  will  show  a  similar  disloca- 
tion of  the  normal  balance.  The  acute  question  will 
be  repopulation — with  a  view  to  another  trial  of  mili- 
tary supremacy  a  generation  hence! — and  all  sorts  of 
expedients  are  being  suggested,  from  polygamy  to 
artificial  fertilization.  It  may  be  that  the  whole  future 
of  woman  as  well  as  of  civilization  after  this  war  is 
over  depends  upon  whether  she  concludes  to  serve 
the  State  or  herself. 

While  in  France  in  the  summer  of  1916,  I  heard 
childless  women  say :  "Would  that  I  had  six  sons  to 


212  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

give  to  France!"  I  heard  unmarried  women  say: 
"Thank  heaven  I  never  married!"  I  heard  bitterness 
expressed  by  bereft  mothers,  terror  and  despair  by 
others  when  the  curtain  had  rung  down  and  they  could 
relax  the  proud  and  smiling  front  they  presented  to 
the  world.  Not  one  would  have  had  her  son  shirk 
his  duty,  nor  asked  for  compromise  with  the  enemy, 
but  all  prayed  for  the  war  to  end.  It  is  true  that  these 
men  at  the  front  are  heroes  in  the  eyes  of  their  women, 
worshiped  by  the  majority  when  they  come  home 
briefly  as  permissionnaires,  and  it  is  also  true  that 
France  is  an  old  military  nation  and  that  the  brain- 
cells  of  its  women  are  full  of  ancestral  memories  of 
war.  <But  never  before  have  women  done  as  much 
thinking  for  themselves  as  they  are  doing  to-day,  as 
they  had  done  for  some  fifteen  or  twenty  years  before 
the  war.  That  war  has  now  lasted  almost  three  years. 
During  this  long  and  terrible  period  there  has  been 
scarcely  a  woman  in  France,  as  in  Britain,  Russia, 
Italy,  Germany,  who  has  not  done  her  share  behind 
the  lines,  working,  at  her  self-appointed  tasks  or  at 
those  imposed  by  the  Government,  for  months  on  end 
without  a  day  of  rest.  They  have  had  contacts  that 
never  would  have  approached  them  otherwise,  they 
have  been  obliged  to  think  for  themselves,  for  thou- 
sands of  helpless  poor,  for  the  men  at  the  Front.  The 
Frenchwomen  particularly  have  forced  men  to  deal 
with  them  as  human  beings  and  respect  them  as  such, 
dissipating  in  some  measure  those  mists  of  sex  through 
which  the  Frenchman  loves  to  stalk  in  search  of  the 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE    213 

elusive  and  highly-sophisticated  quarry.  As  long  as 
a  woman  was  sexually  attractive  she  could  never  hope 
to  meet  man  on  an  equal  footing,  no  matter  how  en- 
trancing he  might  find  her  mental  qualities.  She  must 
play  hide-and-seek,  exercise  finesse,  seduction,  keep 
the  flag  of  sex  flying  ever  on  the  ramparts.  It  is 
doubtful  if  Frenchmen  will  change  'in  this  respect, 
but  it  is  more  than  doubtful  if  women  do  not. 

There  is  hardly  any  doubt  that  if  this  war  lasts 
long  enough  women  for  the  first  time  in  the  history 
of  civilization  will  have  it  in  their  power  to  seize  one 
at  least  of  the  world's  reins.  But  will  they  do  it — I 
am  now  speaking  of  women  in  mass,  not  of  the  ad- 
vanced thinkers,  or  of  women  of  the  world  who  have 
so  recently  ascertained  that  there  is  a  special  joy  in 
being  free  of  the  tyranny  of  sex,  a  tyranny  that 
emanated  no  less  from  within  than  without. 

It  is  to  be  imagined  that  all  the  men  who  are 
fighting  in  this  most  trying  of  all  wars  are  heroes  in 
the  eyes  of  European  women — as  well  they  may  be — 
and  that  those  who  survive  are  likely  to  be  regarded 
with  a  passionate  admiration  not  unmixed  with  awe. 
The  traditional  weakness  of  women  where  men  are 
concerned  (which  after  all  is  but  a  cunning  device 
of  Nature)  may  swamp  their  great  opportunity.  They 
may  fight  over  the  surviving  males  like  dogs  over  a 
bone,  marry  with  sensations  of  profound  gratitude  (or 
patriotic  fervor)  the  armless,  the  legless,  the  blind, 
the  terrible  face  mutiles,  and  drop  forever  out  of  the 
ranks  of  Woman  as  differentiated  from  the  ranks  of 


214  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

mere  women.  What  has  hampered  the  cause  of 
Woman  in  Great  Britain  and  Europe  so  far  is  the 
quite  remarkable  valuation  put  upon  the  male  by  the 
female.  This  is  partly  temperamental,  partly  female 
preponderance,  but  it  is  even  more  deeply  rooted  in 
those  vanished  centuries  during  which  man  proclaimed 
and  maintained  his  superiority.  Circumstances  helped 
him  for  thousands  of  years,  and  he  has  been  taken 
by  the  physically  weaker  and  child-bearing  sex  at  his 
own  estimate.  It  is  difficult  for  American  women  to 
appreciate  this  almost  servile  attitude  of  even  British 
women  to  mere  man.  One  of  the  finest  things  about 
the  militant  woman,  one  by  which  she  scored  most 
heavily,  was  her  flinging  off  of  this  tradition  and  dis- 
playing a  shining  armor  of  indifference  toward  man 
as  man.  This  startled  the  men  almost  as  much  as 
the  window  smashing,  and  made  other  women,  living 
out  their  little  lives  under  the  frowns  and  smiles  of 
the  dominant  male,  think  and  ponder,  wonder  if  their 
small  rewards  amounted  to  half  as  much  as  the  un- 
tasted  pleasures  of  power  and  independence. 

It  is  always  a  sign  of  weakness  to  give  one  side  of  a 
picture  and  blithely  ignore  the  other.  Therefore,  let 
me  hasten  to  add  that  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that 
Mrs.  Pankhurst  had  borne  and  reared  six  children 
before  she  took  up  the  moribund  cause  of  suffrage; 
and  that  after  a  season's  careful  investigation  in  Lon- 
don at  the  height  of  the  militant  movement  I  con- 
cluded that  never  in  the  world  had  so  many  unattractive 
females  been  banded  together  in  any  one  cause.  Even 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE 

the  young  girls  I  heard  speaking  on  street  corners, 
mounted  on  boxes,  looked  gray,  dingy,  sexless.  Of 
course  there  were  many  handsome,  even  lovely,  women, 
— like  Mrs.  Cavendish-Bentinck  and  Lady  Hall,  for 
instance — interested  in  "the  movement,"  contributing 
funds,  and  giving  it  a  certain  moral  support;  but 
when  it  came  to  the  window  smashers,  the  jail  seek- 
ers, the  hunger-strikers,  the  real  martyrs  of  that  ex- 
traordinary minor  chapter  of  Englands  history,  there 
was  only  one  good-looking  woman  in  the  entire  army 
— Mrs.  Pethick-Lawrence — and  militant  extravagances 
soon  became  too  much  for  her.  There  were  intelli- 
gent women  galore,  women  of  the  aristocracy  born 
with  a  certain  style,  and  showing  their  breeding  even 
on  the  soap-box,  but  sexually  attractive  women  never, 
and  even  the  youngest  seemed  to  have  been  born  with- 
out the  bloom  of  youth.  The  significance  of  this, 
however,  works  both  ways.  If  men  did  not  want 
them,  at  least  there  was  something  both  noble  and 
pitiful  in  their  willingness  to  sacrifice  those  dreams 
and  hopes  which  are  the  common  heritage  of  the 
lovely  and  the  plain,  the  old  and  the  young,  the  Circe 
and  the  Amazon,  to  the  ultimate  freedom  of  those 
millions  of  their  sisters  lulled  or  helpless  in  the  en- 
chanted net  of  sex. 

It  is  doubtful  if  even  the  militants  can  revert  to 
their  former  singleness  of  purpose;  after  many  months, 
possibly  years,  of  devotion  to  duty,  serving  State  and 
man,  the  effacement  of  self,  appreciation  of  the  naked 
fact  that  the  integrity  of  their  country  matters  more 


216  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

than  anything  else  on  earth,  they  may  be  quite  un- 
able to  rebound  to  their  old  fanatical  attitude  toward 
suffrage  as  the  one  important  issue  of  the  Twentieth 
Century.  Even  the  very  considerable  number  of  those 
women  that  have  reached  an  appearance  which  would 
eliminate  them  from  the  contest  over  such  men  as 
are  left  may  be  so  chastened  by  the  hideous  sufferings 
they  have  witnessed  or  heard  of  daily,  so  moved  by 
the  astounding  endurance  and  grim  valor  of  man 
(who  nearest  approaches  to  godhood  in  time  of  war) 
that  they  will  have  lost  the  disposition  to  tear  from 
him  the  few  compensations  the  new  era  of  peace  can 
offer.  If  that  is  the  case,  if  women  at  the  end  of 
the  war  are  soft,  completely  rehabilitated  in  that 
femininity,  or  femaleness,  which  was  their  original  en- 
dowment from  Nature,  the  whole  great  movement 
will  subside,  and  the  work  must  begin  over  again  by 
unborn  women  and  their  accumulated  grievances  some 
fifty  years  hence. 

Nothing  is  more  sure  than  that  Nature  will  take 
advantage  of  the  lull  to  make  a  desperate  attempt  to 
recover  her  lost  ground.  Progressive  women,  and 
before  the  war  their  ranks  were  recruited  daily,  were 
one  of  the  most  momentous  results  of  the  forces  of 
the  higher  civilization,  an  evolution  that  in  Nature's 
eye  represented  a  lamentable  divergence  from  type. 
Here  is  woman,  with  all  her  physical  disabilities,  be- 
come man's  rival  in  all  of  the  arts,  save  music,  and  in 
nearly  all  of  the  productive  walks  of  life,  as  well  as  in 
a  large  percentage  of  the  professional  and  executive; 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE    217 

intellectually  the  equal  if  not  the  superior  of  the  aver- 
age man — who  in  these  days,  poor  devil,  is  born  a 
specialist — and  making  a  bold  bid  for  political  equality. 

It  has  been  a  magnificent  accomplishment,  and  it 
has  marked  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  picturesque 
milestones  in  human  progress.  It  seems  incredible 
that  woman,  in  spite  of  the  tremendous  pressure  that 
Nature  will  put  upon  her,  may  revert  weakly  to  type. 
The  most  powerful  of  all  the  forces  working  for  Na- 
ture and  against  feminism  will  be  the  quite  brutal  and 
obscene  naturalness  of  war,  and  the  gross  familiarity 
of  civilization  with  it  for  so  long  a  period.  There 
is  reversion  to  type  with  a  vengeance !  The  ablest  of 
the  male  inheritors  of  the  accumulated  wisdom  and 
experiences  and  civilizing  influences  of  the  ages  were 
in  power  prior  to  August  1914,  and  not  one  of  them 
nor  all  combined  had  the  foresight  to  circumvent,  or 
the  diplomatic  ingenuity  to  keep  in  leash  the  panting 
Hun.  They  are  settling  their  scores,  A.D.  1914-1917, 
by  brute  fighting.  There  has  been  some  brain  work 
during  this  war  so  far,  but  a  long  sight  more  brute 
work.  As  it  was  in  the  beginning,  etc. 

And  the  women,  giving  every  waking  hour  to 
ameliorating  the  lot  of  the  defenders  of  their  hearth 
and  their  honor,  or  nursing  the  wounded  in  hospital, 
have  been  stark  up  against  the  physical  side :  whether 
making  bombs  in  factories,  bandages  or  uniforms, 
washing  gaping  wounds,  preparing  shattered  bodies  for 
burial,  or  listening  to  the  horrid  tales  of  men  and 
women  home  on  leave. 


218  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

ii 

The  European  woman,  in  spite  of  her  exalted  pitch, 
is  living  a  more  or  less  mechanical  life  at  present. 
Even  where  she  has  revealed  unsuspected  creative 
ability,  as  soon  as  her  particular  task  is  mapped  she 
subsides  into  routine.  As  a  rule  she  is  quite  automati- 
cally and  naturally  performing  those  services  and 
duties  for  which  Nature  so  elaborately  equipped  her, 
ministering  to  man  almost  exclusively,  even  when  tem- 
porarily filling  his  place  in  the  factory  and  the  tram- 
car.  Dienen!  Dienen!  is  the  motto  of  one  and  all  of 
these  Kundrys,  whether  they  realize  it  or  not,  and  it 
is  on  the  cards  that  they  may  never  again  wish  to 
somersault  back  to  that  mental  attitude  where  they 
would  dominate  not  serve. 

On  the  other  hand  civilization  may  for  once  prove 
stronger  than  Nature.  Thinking  women — and  there 
are  a  few  hundred  thousands  of  them — may  emerge 
from  this  hideous  reversion  of  Europe  to  barbarism 
with  an  utter  contempt  for  man.  They  may  despise 
the  men  of  affairs  for  muddling  Europe  into  the  most 
terrible  war  in  history,  in  the  very  midst  of  the  great- 
est civilization  of  which  there  is  any  record.  They 
may  experience  a  secret  but  profound  revulsion  from 
the  men  wallowing  in  blood  and  filth  for  months  on 
end,  living  only  to  kill.  The  fact  that  the  poor  men 
can't  help  it  does  not  alter  the  case.  The  women 
can't  help  it  either.  Women  have  grown  very  fastid- 
ious. The  sensual  women  and  the  quite  unimaginative 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE    219 

women  will  not  be  affected,  but  how  about  the  others  ? 
And  only  men  of  the  finest  grain  survive  a  long  period 
of  war  with  the  artificial  habits  of  civilization  strong 
upon  them. 

The  end  of  this  war  may  mark  a  conclusive  revul- 
sion of  the  present  generation  of  European  women 
from  men  that  may  last  until  they  have  passed  the 
productive  age.  Instead  of  softening,  disintegrating 
back  to  type,  they  may  be  insensibly  hardening  inside 
a  mould  that  will  eventually  cast  them  forth  a  more 
definite  third  sex  than  any  that  threatened  before  the 
war.  Woman,  blind  victim  of  the  race  as  she  has 
been  for  centuries,  seldom  in  these  days  loves  with- 
out an  illusion  of  the  senses  or  of  the  imagination. 
She  has  ceased,  in  the  wider  avenues  of  life,  lined  as 
they  are  with  the  opulent  wares  of  twentieth  century 
civilization,  to  be  merely  the  burden-bearing  and  re- 
productive sex.  Life  has  taught  her  the  inestimable 
value  of  illusions,  and  the  more  practical  she  becomes, 
the  more  she  cherishes  this  divine  gift.  It  is  possible 
that  man  has  forfeited  his  power  to  cast  a  glamour 
over  all  but  the  meanest  types  of  women.  If  that 
should  be  the  case  women  will  ask :  Why  settle  down 
and  keep  house  for  the  tiresome  creatures,  study  their 
whims,  and  meekly  subside  into  the  second  place,  or 
be  eternally  on  the  alert  for  equal  rights?  As  for 
children?  Let  the  state  suffer  for  its  mistakes.  Why 
bring  more  children  into  the  world  to  be  blown  to 
pieces  on  the  field  of  battle,  or  a  burden  to  their  women 
throughout  interminable  years?  No!  For  a  genera- 


220  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

tion  at  least  the  world  shall  be  ours,  and  then  it  may 
limp  along  with  a  depleted  population  or  go  to  the 
dogs. 

Few,  no  doubt,  will  reason  it  out  as  elaborately  as 
this  or  be  so  consciously  ruthless,  but  a  large  enough 
number  are  very  likely  to  bring  the  light  of  their 
logic  to  bear  upon  the  opportunity,  and  a  still  larger 
number  to  feel  an  obscure  sense  of  revolt  against  man 
for  his  failure  to  uphold  civilization  against  the  Prus- 
sian anachronism,  combined  with  a  more  definite  de- 
sire for  personal  liberty.  And  both  of  these  divisions 
of  their  sex  are  likely  to  alter  the  course  of  history — 
far  more  radically  than  has  ever  happened  before  at 
the  close  of  any  fighting  period.  Even  the  much  de- 
pended upOn  maternal  instinct  may  subside,  partly 
under  the  horrors  of  field  hospitals  where  so  many 
mother's  sons  are  ghastly  wrecks,  partly  under  a  heavy 
landslide  of  disgust  that  the  sex  that  has  ruled  the 
world  should  apparently  be  so  helpless  against  so  ob- 
scene a  fate. 

They  will  reflect  that  if  women  are  weak  (com- 
paratively) physically,  there  is  all  the  more  hope  they 
may  develop  into  giants  mentally ;  one  of  man's  handi- 
caps being  that  his  more  highly  vitalized  body  with  its 
coercive  demands,  is  ever  waging  war  with  a  consist- 
ent and  complete  development  of  the  mind.  And  >in 
these  days,  when  the  science  of  the  body  is  so  thor- 
oughly understood,  any  woman,  unless  afflicted  with 
an  organic  disease,  is  able  to  keep  her  brain  constantly 
supplied  with  red  unpoisoned  blood,  and  may  wax  in 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE    221 

mental  powers  (there  being  no  natural  physical  de- 
teriorations in  the  brain  as  in  the  body)  so  long  as 
life  lasts. 

Certainly  these  women  will  say:  We  could  have 
done  no  worse  than  these  chess  players  of  Europe  and 
we  might  have  done  better.  Assuredly  if  we  grasp 
and  hold  the  reins  of  the  world  there  will  never  be 
another  war.  We  are  not,  in  the  first  place,  as  greedy 
as  men;  we  will  divide  the  world  up  in  strict  accord- 
ance with  race,  and  let  every  nation  have  its  own  place 
in  the  sun.  Commercial  greed  has  no  place  in  our 
make-up,  and  with  the  hideous  examples  of  history 
it  will  never  obtain  entrance. 

How  often  has  it  been  the  cynical  pleasure  of  mere 
ministers  of  state  to  use  kings  as  pawns?  Well,  we 
despise  the  game.  Also,  we  shall  have  no  kings,  and 
republics  are  loth  to  make  war.  Our  instincts  are 
humanitarian.  We  should  like  to  see  all  the  world  as 
happy  as  that  lovely  countryside  of  Northeastern 
France  before  August  1914.  We  at  least  recognize 
that  the  human  mind  is  as  yet  imperfectly  developed ; 
and  if,  instead  of  setting  the  world  back  periodically, 
and  drenching  mankind  in  misery,  we  would  have  all 
men  and  women  as  happy  as  human  nature  will  permit, 
we  should  devote  our  abilities,  uninterrupted  by  war, 
to  solving  the  problem  of  poverty  (the  acutest  evi- 
dence of  man's  failure),  and  to  fostering  the  talents 
of  millions  of  men  and  women  that  to-day  constitute 
a  part  of  the  wastage  of  Earth.  Of  course,  being 
mortal,  we  shall  make  mistakes,  give  way,  no  doubt, 


222  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

to  racial  jealousies,  and  personal  ambitions;  but  our 
eyes  have  been  opened  wide  by  this  war  and  it  is  im- 
possible that  we  should  make  the  terrible  mistakes  we 
inevitably  would  have  made  had  we  obtained  power 
before  we  had  seen  and  read  its  hideous  revelations — 
day  after  day,  month  after  month,  year  after  year! 
It  is  true  that  men  have  made  these  resolutions  many 
times,  but  men  have  too  much  of  the  sort  of  blood 
that  goes  to  the  head,  and  their  lust  for  money  is  even 
greater  than  their  lust  for  power. 

Now,  this  may  sound  fantastic  but  it  is  indisputably 
probable.  Much  has  been  said  of  the  patriotic  exalta- 
tion of  young  women  during  war  and  just  after  its 
close,  which  leads  them  to  marry  almost  any  one  in 
order  to  give  a  son  to  the  state,  or  even  to  dispense 
with  the  legal  formality.  But  although  I  heard  a  great 
deal  of  that  sort  of  talk  during  the  first  months  of 
the  war  I  don't  hear  so  much  of  it  now.  Nor  did  I 
hear  anything  like  as  much  of  it  in  France  as  I  ex- 
pected. To  quote  one  woman  of  great  intelligence 
with  whom  I  talked  many  times,  and  who  is  one  of 
the  Government's  chosen  aids;  she  said  one  day,  "It 
was  a  terrible  distress  to  me  that  I  had  only  one  child, 
and  I  consulted  every  specialist  in  France.  Now  I  am 
thankful  that  I  did  have  but  one  son  to  come  home  to 
me  with  a  gangrene  wound,  and  then,  after  months  of 
battling  for  his  life,  to  insist  upon  going  back  to  the 
Front  and  exposing  it  every  day.  I  used  to  feel  sad, 
too,  that  Valentine  Thompson"  (who  is  not  only  beau- 
tiful but  an  Amazon  in  physique)  "did  not  marry  and 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE    223 

be  happy  like  other  girls,  instead  of  becoming  a  public 
character  and  working  at  first  one  scheme  or  another 
for  the  amelioration  of  the  lot  of  woman.  Now,  I  am 
thankful  that  she  never  married.  Her  father  is  too 
old  to  go  to  war  and  she  has  neither  husband  nor 
son  to  agonize  over.  Far  better  she  live  the  life  of 
usefulness  she  does  than  deliberately  take  upon  herself 
the  common  burdens  of  women."  No  Frenchwoman 
could  be  more  patriotic  than  the  one  who  made  this 
speech  to  me,  and  if  she  had  had  many  sons  she  would 
have  girded  them  all  for  war,  but  she  had  suffered 
too  much  herself  and  she  saw  too  much  suffering 
among  her  friends  daily,  not  to  hate  the  accursed  in- 
stitution of  war,  and  wish  that  as  many  women  could 
be  spared  its  brutal  impositions  as  possible. 

Nobody  has  ever  accused  me  of  being  a  Pacifist. 
Personally,  I  think  that  every  self-respecting  nation  on 
the  globe  should  have  risen  in  1914  and  assisted  the 
Allies  to  blast  Prussia  off  the  face  of  the  Earth,  but 
after  this  war  is  over  if  the  best  brains  in  these  nations 
do  not  at  once  get  to  work  and  police  the  world  against 
future  wars,  it  will  be  a  matter  for  regret  that  they 
were  not  all  on  the  German  ship  when  she  foundered. 

in 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  woman  has,  in  her  sub- 
conscious brain-cells,  ancestral  memories  of  the  Ma- 
triarchate.  It  is  interesting  to  quote  in  this  connection 


224  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

what  Patrick  Geddes  and  G.  Arthur  Thompson  have 
to  say  on  the  mooted  question  of  the  Mother- Age : 

"Prehistoric  history  is  hazardous,  but  there  is  a 
good  case  to  be  made  out  for  a  Mother-Age.  This 
has  been  reconstructed  from  fossils  in  the  folk  lore  of 
agriculture  and  housewifery,  in  old  customs,  ceremo- 
nies, festivals,  games;  in  myths  and  fairy  tales  and 
age-worn  words. 

"Professor  Karl  Pierson  finds  in  the  study  of  witch- 
craft some  of  the  fossils  that  point  back  to  the 
Matriarchate.  In  the  older  traditions  'the  witch  re- 
sumes her  old  position  as  the  wise-woman,  the  medi- 
cine woman,  the  leader  of  the  people,  the  priestess.' 
'We  have  accordingly  to  look  upon  the  witch  as  essen- 
tially the  degraded  form  of  the  old  priestess,  cunning 
in  the  knowledge  of  herbs  and  medicine,  jealous  of  the 
rights  and  of  the  goddess  she  serves,  and  preserving 
in  spells  and  incantations  such  wisdom  as  early  civili- 
zation possessed.' 

"The  witch's  weather  wisdom  is  congruent  with  the 
fact  that  women  were  the  earliest  agriculturists;  her 
knowledge  of  herbs  with  that  of  the  ancient  medicine 
women;  her  diablerie  with  that  of  the  ancient  group 
relations  of  the  sexes  so  different  from  what  we  call 
marriage  to-day ;  her  nocturnal  dances  with  the  ancient 
choruses  of  marriage-ripe  maidens.  The  authority  and 
magic  circle  kept  by  the  broom  are  those  of  the  hearth 
and  floor  in  her  primeval  roundhut;  and  her  distaff 
and  pitchfork,  her  caldron,  her  cat  and  dog,  are  all  in 
keeping  with  the  role  of  woman  in  the  Mother-Age. 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE    225 

"But  there  is  another  way,  and  that  certainly  not 
less  reliable,  by  which  we  can  arrive  at  some  under- 
standing of  the  Mother-Age,  and  how  it  naturally 
came  about,  namely,  by  a  study  of  our  'contemporary 
ancestors,'  of  people  who  linger  on  the  matriarchal 
level.  Such  people,  as  well  as  others  on  the  still 
lower  nomad  stage  of  civilization,  are  to  be  found  at 
this  day  in  Australia. 

"While  the  purely  nomad  stage  lasted,  little  progress 
could  be  made,  because  the  possessions  of  a  group 
were  limited  by  the  carrying  powers  of  its  members. 
But  in  a  favorite  forest  spot  a  long  halt  was  possible, 
the  mothers  were  able  to  drop  their  babies  and  give  a 
larger  part  of  their  attention  to  food-getting.  As  be- 
fore, the  forest  products — roots  and  fruits — were 
gathered  in,  but  more  time  and  ingenuity  were  ex- 
pended in  making  them  palatable  and  in  storing  them 
for  future  use.  The  plants  in  the  neighborhood,  which 
were  useful  for  food  or  for  their  healing  properties, 
were  tended  and  kept  free  of  weeds,  and  by  and  by 
seeds  of  them  were  sown  in  cleared  ground  within  easy 
reach  of  the  camp.  Animals  gathered  about  the  rich 
food  area,  and  were  at  first  tolerated — certain  negro 
tribes  to-day  keep  hens  about  their  huts,  though  they 
eat  neither  them  nor  their  eggs — and  later  encouraged 
as  a  stable  source  of  food-supply.  The  group  was 
anchored  to  one  spot  by  its  increasing  possessions; 
and  thus  home-making,  gardening,  medicine,  the  do- 
mestication of  animals  and  even  agriculture,  were 
fairly  begun.  Not  only  were  all  these  activities  in  the 


226  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

hands  of  women,  but  to  them,  too,  were  necessarily 
left  the  care  and  training  of  the  young. 

"The  men  meanwhile  went  away  on  warlike  expedi- 
tions against  other  groups,  and  on  long  hunting  and 
fishing  excursions,  from  which  they  returned  with 
their  spoils  from  time  to  time,  to  be  welcomed  by  the 
women  with  dancing  and  feasting.  Hunting  and  war 
were  their  only  occupations,  and  the  time  between 
expeditions  was  spent  in  resting  and  in  interminable 
palavers  and  dances,  which  we  may  perhaps  look  upon 
as  the  beginnings  of  parliaments  and  music  halls. 

"Whether  this  picture  be  accurate  in  detail  or  not 
there  is  at  any  rate  a  considerable  body  of  evidence 
pointing  to  the  'Matriarchate'  as  a  period  during 
which  women  began  medicine,  the  domestication  of  the 
smaller  animals,  the  cultivation  of  vegetables,  flax  and 
corn,  the  use  of  the  distaff,  the  spindle,  the  broom, 
the  fire-rake  and  the  pitchfork. 

"In  the  Mother-Age  the  inheritance  of  property 
passed  through  the  mother;  the  woman  gave  the  chil- 
dren her  own  name;  husband  and  father  were  in  the 
background — often  far  from  individualized;  the 
brother  and  uncle  were  much  more  important;  the 
woman  was  the  depository  of  custom,  lore,  and  re- 
ligious tradition;  she  was,  at  least,  the  nominal  head 
of  the  family,  and  she  had  a  large  influence  in  tribal 
affairs." 

For  some  years  past  certain  progressive  women 
have  shown  signs  of  a  reversion  to  the  matriarchal 
state — or  shall  we  say  a  disposition  to  revive  it?  In 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE    227 

spite  of  human  progress  we  travel  more  or  less  in 
circles,  a  truth  of  which  the  present  war  and  its  re- 
versions is  the  most  uncompromising  example. 

In  the  married  state,  for  instance,  these  women  have 
retained  their  own  name,  not  even  being  addressed 
as  Mrs.,  that  after  all  is  a  polite  variation  of  the 
Spanish  "de,"  which  does  not  by  any  means  indicate 
noble  birth  alone,  women  after  marriage  proudly  an- 
nouncing themselves  as  legally  possessed.  For  in- 
stance a  girl  whose  name  has  been  Elena  Lopez  writes 
herself  after  marriage  Elena  Lopez  de  Morena,  the 
"de"  in  this  case  standing  for  "property  of."  It  will 
be  some  time  before  the  women  of  Spain  travel  far  on 
the  Northern  road  toward  pride  in  sex  deliverance, 
but  with  us,  and  in  Britain,  the  custom  is  growing 
prevalent. 

Then  there  is  the  hyphen  marriage,  more  common 
still,  in  which  the  woman  retains  her  own  name,  but 
condescends  to  annex  the  man's.  Once  in  a  way  a 
man  will  prefix  his  wife's  name  to  his  own,  and  there 
is  one  on  record  who  prefixed  his  own  to  his  wife's. 
But  any  woman  may  have  her  opinion  of  him. 

So  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  ascertain  these  mar- 
riages are  quite  as  successful  as  the  average;  and  if 
the  woman  has  a  career  on  hand — and  she  generally 
has — she  pursues  it  unhampered.  The  grandmother 
or  aunt  takes  charge  of  the  children,  if  there  are  any, 
while  she  is  at  her  duties  without  the  home,  and  so 
far,  the  husband  has  been  permitted  the  compensation 
of  endowing  the  children  with  his  name. 


228  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

The  reversion  to  the  prehistoric  matriarchate  can 
hardly  be  complete  in  these  days,  but  there  are  many 
significant  straws  that  indicate  the  rising  of  a  new 
wind  blown  by  ancient  instincts.  To  look  upon  them 
as  shockingly  advanced  or  abnormal  is  an  evidence  of 
conservatism  that  does  not  reach  quite  far  enough  into 
the  past. 

A  still  more  significant  sign  of  the  times  (in  the 
sense  of  linking  past  with  present)  is  the  ever-in- 
creasing number  of  women  doctors  and  their  success. 
Men  for  the  most  part  have  ceased  to  sneer  or  even  to 
be  more  than  humanly  jealous,  often  speaking  in  terms 
of  the  warmest  admiration  not  only  of  their  skill  but 
of  their  conscientiousness  and  power  of  endurance. 
When  I  went  to  live  in  Munich  (1903)  a  woman  sur- 
geon was  just  beginning  to  practice.  This,  to  Ger- 
many, was  an  innovation  with  a  vengeance,  and  the 
German  male  is  the  least  tolerant  of  female  encroach- 
ment within  his  historic  preserves.  The  men  prac- 
titioners threw  every  possible  obstacle  in  her  way,  and 
with  no  particular  finesse.  But  nothing  could  daunt 
her,  and  two  or  three  years  later  she  was  riding  round 
in  her  car — a  striking  red  one — while  the  major  num- 
ber of  her  rivals  were  still  dependent  upon  the  ambling 
cab-horse,  directed  off  and  on  by  a  fat  driver  who 
was  normally  asleep.  Jealousy,  however,  for  the  most 
part  had  merged  into  admiration;  for  your  average 
male,  of  whatever  race,  is  not  only  philosophical  but 
bows  to  success;  she  was  both  recognized  and  called 
in  for  consultation.  Hang  on!  Hang  on!  should  be 


THREAT  OF  THE  MATRIARCHATE    229 

the  motto  of  all  women  determined  to  make  their 
mark  in  what  is  still  a  man's  world.  Life  never  has 
denied  her  prizes  to  courage  and  persistence  backed 
by  ability. 

A  curious  instance  of  man's  inevitable  recognition 
of  the  places  of  responsibility  women  more  and  more 
are  taking  is  in  the  new  reading  of  the  Income  Tax 
papers  for  1917.  Heretofore  only  married  men  were 
exempted  taxation  on  the  first  $400x5  but  from  now  on, 
apparently,  women  who  are  also  "heads  of  families" 
are  likewise  favored.  As  thousands  of  women  are 
supporting  their  aged  parents,  their  brothers  while 
studying,  their  children  and  even  their  husbands,  who 
for  one  reason  or  other  are  unequal  to  the  family 
strain,  this  exemption  should  have  been  made  coinci- 
dentally  with  the  imposing  of  the  tax.  But  men  are 
slow  to  see  and  slower  still  to  act  where  women  are 
concerned. 

As  we  all  know,  women  have  invaded  practically 
every  art,  trade,  and  industry,  but — aside  from  the 
arts,  for  occasionally  Nature  is  so  impartial  in  her 
bestowal  of  genius  that  art  is  accepted  as  sexless — in 
no  walk  of  life  has  woman  been  so  uniformly  success- 
ful as  in  medicine.  This  is  highly  significant  in  view 
of  the  fact  that  they  invented  and  practiced  it  in  the 
dawn  of  history,  while  man  was  too  rudimentary  to 
do  anything  but  fight  and  fill  the  larder.  It  would 
seem  that  the  biological  differences  between  the  male 
and  the  female  which  are  so  often  the  cause  of 
woman's  failure  in  many  spheres  preempted  through- 


230  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

out  long  centuries  by  man,  is  in  her  case  counteracted 
not  only  by  her  ancestral  inheritance,  but  by  the  high 
moral  element  without  which  no  doctor  or  surgeon 
can  long  stand  the- exactions  and  strain  of  his  terrible 
profession.  No  woman  goes  blithely  into  surgery  or 
medicine  merely  to  have  a  career  or  to  make  a  living, 
although  ten  thousand  girls  to  her  one  will  essay  to 
write,  or  paint,  or  clerk,  or  cultivate  her  bit  of  voice, 
with  barely  a  thought  expended  upon  her  fitness  or  the 
obligations  involved. 

But  the  woman  who  deliberately  enters  the  profes- 
sion of  healing  has,  almost  invariably,  a  certain  no- 
bility of  mind,  a  lack  of  personal  selfishness,  and  a 
power  of  devotion  to  the  race  quite  unknown  to  the 
average  woman,  even  the  woman  of  genius  when  seek- 
ing a  career. 

During  the  Great  War  there  have  been  few  women 
doctors  at  the  Front,  but  hundreds  of  women  nurses, 
and  they  have  been  as  intrepid  and  useful  as  their  rivals 
in  sex.  They  alone,  by  their  previous  experience  of 
human  suffering,  bad  enough  at  best,  were  in  a  meas- 
ure prepared  for  the  horrors  of  war  and  the  impotence 
of  men  laid  low.  But  that  will  not  restore  any  lost 
illusions,  for  they  took  masculine  courage  for  granted 
with  their  mothers'  milk,  and  they  cannot  fail  to  be 
imbued  to  the  marrow  with  a  bitter  sense  of  waste 
and  futility,  of  the  monstrous  sacrifice  of  the  best  blood 
of  their  generation. 


II 

THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE 


CERTAIN  doctors  of  England  have  gone  on 
record  as  predicting  a  lamentable  physical  future 
for  the  army  of  women  who  are  at  present  doing  the 
heavy  work  of  men,  particularly  in  the  munition  fac- 
tories. They  say  that  the  day-long  tasks  which  involve 
incessant  bending  and  standing  and  lifting  of  heavy 
weights  will  breed  a  terrible  reaction  when  the  war 
ends  and  these  women  are  abruptly  flung  back  into 
domestic  life.  There  is  almost  no  man's  place  in  the 
industrial  world  that  English  women  are  not  satisfac- 
torily rilling,  with  either  muscle  or  brains,  and  the 
doctors  apprehend  a  new  problem  in  many  thousand 
neurotics  or  otherwise  broken-down  women  at  the 
close  of  the  war.  Although  this  painful  result  of 
women's  heroism  would  leave  just  that  many  women 
less  to  compete  for  the  remaining  men  sound  of  wind 
and  limb,  still,  if  true,  it  raises  the  acute  question : 
Are  women  the  equal  of  men  in  all  things?  Their 
deliverance  from  the  old  marital  fetish,  and  successful 
invasion  of  so  many  walks  of  life,  have  made  such  a 
noise  in  the  world  since  woman  took  the  bit  between 
her  teeth,  more  or  less  en  masse,  that  the  feministic 

231 


232  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

paean  of  triumph  has  almost  smothered  an  occasional 
protest  from  those  concerned  with  biology;  but  as  a 
matter-of-fact  statistics  regarding  the  staying  power 
of  women  in  what  for  all  the  historic  centuries  have 
been  regarded  as  avocations  heaven-designed  and  with 
strict  reference  to  the  mental  and  physical  equipment 
of  man,  are  too  contradictory  to  be  of  any  value. 

Therefore,  the  result  of  this  prolonged  strain  on 
a  healthy  woman  of  a  Northern  race  evidently  pre- 
destined to  be  as  public  as  their  present  accomplish- 
ment, will  be  awaited  with  the  keenest  interest,  and  no 
doubt  will  have  an  immense  effect  upon  the  future 
status  of  woman.  She  has  her  supreme  opportunity, 
and  if  her  nerves  are  equal  to  her  nerve,  her  body  to 
her  spirit,  if  the  same  women  are  working  at  the  severe 
tasks  at  the  end  of  the  war  as  during  the  first  months 
of  their  exaltation,  and  instead  of  being  wrecks  are 
as  hardened  as  the  miserable  city  boys  that  have  be- 
come wiry  in  the  trenches — then,  beyond  all  question 
woman  wilLhave  come  to  her  own  and  it  will  be  for 
her,  not  for  man,  to  say  whether  or  not  she  shall 
subside  and  attend  to  the  needs  of  the  next  generation. 

Before  I  went  to  France  in  May  1916  I  was  inclined 
to  believe  that  only  a  small  percentage  of  women 
would  stand  the  test;  but  since  then  I  have  seen  hun- 
dreds of  women  at  work  in  the  munition  factories  of 
France.  As  I  have  told  in  another  chapter,  they  had 
then  been  at  work  for  some  sixteen  months,  and,  of 
poor  physique  in  the  beginning,  were  now  strong 
healthy  animals  with  no  sign  of  breakdown.  They 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE     233 

were  more  satisfactory  in  every  way  than  men,  for 
they  went  home  and  slept  all  night,  drank  only  the 
light  wines  of  their  country,  smoked  less,  if  at  all, 
and  had  a  more  natural  disposition  toward  cleanliness. 
Their  bare  muscular  arms  looked  quite  capable  of  lay- 
ing a  man  prostrate  if  he  came  home  and  ordered 
them  about,  and  their  character  and  pride  had  de- 
veloped in  proportion.* 

It  is  not  to  be  imagined,  however,  that  the  younger, 
at  least,  of  these  women  will  cling  to  those  greasy  jobs 
when  the  world  is  normal  again  and  its  tempered 
prodigals  are  spending  money  on  the  elegancies  of  life 
once  more.  And  if  they  slump  back  into  the  sedentary 
life  when  men  are  ready  to  take  up  their  old  burdens, 
making  artificial  flowers,  standing  all  day  in  the  fetid 
atmosphere  of  crowded  and  noisy  shops,  stitching  ever- 
lastingly at  lingerie,  there,  it  seems  to  me,  lies  the 
danger  of  breakdown.  The  life  they  lead  now,  ardu- 
ous as  it  is,  not  only  has  developed  their  muscles,  their 
lungs,  the  power  to  digest  their  food,  but  they  are  use- 
ful members  of  society  on  the  grand  scale,  and  to 
fall  from  any  height  is  not  conducive  to  the  well-being 
of  body  or  spirit.  No  doubt,  when  the  sudden  release 
comes,  they  will  return  to  the  lighter  tasks  with  a 
sense  of  immense  relief;  but  will  it  last?  Will  it  be 
more  than  a  momentary  reaction  to  the  habit  of  their 
own  years  and  of  the  centuries  behind,  or  will  they 
gradually  become  aware  (after  they  have  rested  and 

*  Dr.  Rosalie  Morton,  the  leading  woman  doctor  and  surgeon  of  New 
York,  who  also  studied  this  subject  at  first  hand,  agrees  with  me  that 
the  war  tasks  have  improved  the  health  of  the  European  women. 


234  TOE  LIVING  PRESENT 

romped  and  enjoyed  the  old  life  in  the  old  fashion 
when  off  duty)  that  with  the  inferior  task  they  have 
become  the  inferior  sex  again.  The  wife,  to  be  sure, 
will  feel  something  more  than  her  husband's  equal, 
and  the  Frenchwoman  never  has  felt  herself  the  in- 
ferior in  the  matrimonial  partnership.  But  how  about 
the  wage  earners?  Those  that  made  ten  to  fifteen 
francs  a  day  in  the  Usines  de  Guerre,  and  will  now 
be  making  four  or  five?  How  about  the  girls  who 
cannot  marry  because  their  families  are  no  longer  in 
a  position  to  pay  the  dot,  without  which  no  French 
girl  dreams  of  marrying?  These  girls  not  only  have 
been  extraordinarily  (for  Frenchwomen  of  their  class) 
affluent  during  the  long  period  of  the  war,  but  they 
order  men  about,  and  they  are  further  upheld  with 
the  thought  that  they  are  helping  their  beloved  France 
to  conquer  the  enemy.  They  live  on  another  plane, 
and  life  is  apt  to  seem  very  mean  and  commonplace 
under  the  old  conditions. 

That  these  women  are  not  masculinized  is  proved 
by  the  fact  that  many  have  borne  children  during  the 
second  year  of  the  war,  their  tasks  being  made  lighter 
until  they  are  restored  to  full  strength  again.  They 
invariably  return  as  soon  as  possible,  however.  It 
may  be,  of  course,  that  the  young  men  and  women  of 
the  lower  bourgeoisie  will  forswear  the  dot,  for  it 
would  be  but  one  more  old  custom  giving  way  to 
necessity.  In  that  case  the  sincere,  hardworking  and 
not  very  humorous  women  of  this  class  no  doubt  would 
find  full  compensation  in  the  home,  and  promptly  do 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE    235 

her  duty  by  the  State.  But  I  doubt  if  any  other  alter- 
native will  console  any  but  the  poorest  intelligence  or 
the  naturally  indolent — and  perhaps  Frenchwomen, 
unless  good  old-fashioned  butterflies,  have  less  lazi- 
ness in  their  make-up  than  any  other  women  under 
the  sun. 

The  natural  volatility  of  the  race  must  also  be  taken 
into  consideration.  Stoical  in  their  substratum,  bub- 
bling on  the  surface,  it  may  be  that  these  women  who 
took  up  the  burdens  of  men  so  bravely  will  shrug  their 
shoulders  and  revert  to  pure  femininity.  Those  past 
the  age  of  allurement  may  fight  like  termagants  for 
their  lucrative  jobs,  their  utter  independence;  but  co- 
quetry and  the  joy  in  life,  or,  to  put  it  more  plainly, 
the  powerful  passions  of  the  French  race,  may  do 
more  to  effect  an  automatic  and  permanent  return  to 
the  old  status  than  any  authoritative  act  on  the  part 
of  man. 

II 

The  women  of  England  are  (or  were)  far  more 
neurotic  than  the  women  of  France,  as  they  have 
fewer  natural  outlets.  And  the  struggle  for  legal  en- 
franchisement, involving,  as  it  did,  a  sensationalism 
that  affected  even  the  non-combatants,  did  much  to 
enhance  this  tendency,  and  it  is  interesting  to  specu- 
late whether  this  war  will  make  or  finish  them.  Once 
more,  personally,  I  believe  it  will  make  them,  but  as 
I  was  not  able  to  go  to  London  after  my  investiga- 
tions in  France  were  concluded  and  observe  for  myself 


236  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

I  refuse  to  indulge  in  speculations.  Time  will  show, 
and  before  very  long. 

No  doubt,  however,  when  the  greater  question  of 
winning  the  war  is  settled,  the  question  of  sex  equality 
will  rage  with  a  new  violence,  perhaps  in  some  new 
form,  among  such  bodies  of  women  as  are  not  so 
subject  to  the  thrall  of  sex  as  to  desert  their  new 
colors.  It  would  seem  that  the  lot  of  woman  is  ever 
to  be  on  the  defensive.  Nature  handicapped  her  at 
the  start,  giving  man  a  tremendous  advantage  in  his 
minimum  relationship  to  reproduction,  and  circum- 
stances (mainly  perpetual  warfare)  postponed  the 
development  of  her  mental  powers  for  centuries.  Cer- 
tainly nothing  in  the  whole  history  of  mankind  is  so 
startling  as  the  abrupt  awakening  of  woman  and  her 
demand  for  a  position  in  the  world  equal  to  that  of 
the  dominant  male. 

I  use  the  word  abrupt,  because  in  spite  of  the  scat- 
tered instances  of  female  prosiliency  throughout  his- 
tory, and  the  long  struggle  beginning  in  the  last  cen- 
tury for  the  vote,  or  the  individual  determination  to 
strive  for  some  more  distinguished  fashion  of  coping 
with  poverty  than  school-teaching  or  boarding-house 
keeping,  the  concerted  awakening  of  the  sex  was 
almost  as  abrupt  as  the  European  War.  Like  many 
fires  it  smouldered  long,  and  then  burst  into  a  menac- 
ing conflagration.  But  I  do  not  for  a  moment  appre- 
hend that  the  conflagration  will  extinguish  the  com- 
plete glory  of  the  male  any  more  than  it  will  cause  a 
revulsion  of  nature  in  the  born  mother. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE    237 

But  may  there  not  be  a  shuffling  of  the  cards  ?  Take 
the  question  of  servant-girls  for  instance.  Where 
there  are  two  or  more  servants  in  a  family  their  lot  is 
far  better  than  that  of  the  factory  girl.  But  it  is 
quite  a  different  matter  with  the  maid-of -all-work,  the 
household  drudge,  who  is  increasingly  hard  to  find, 
partly  because  she,  quite  naturally,  prefers  the  depart- 
ment store,  or  the  factory,  with  its  definite  hours  and 
better  social  status,  partly  because  there  is  nothing  in 
the  "home"  to  offset  her  terrible  loneliness  but  in- 
terminable hours  of  work.  In  England,  where  many 
people  live  in  lodgings,  fashionable  and  otherwise,  and 
have  all  meals  served  in  their  rooms,  it  is  a  painful 
sight  to  see  a  slavey  toiling  up  two  or  three  flights 
of  stairs — and  four  times  a  day.  In  the  United  States, 
the  girls  who  come  over  from  Scandinavia  or  Ger- 
many with  roseate  hopes  soon  lose  their  fresh  color 
and  look  heavy  and  sullen  if  they  find  their  level  in 
the  household  where  economy  reigns. 

Now,  why  has  no  one  ever  thought  of  men  as 
"maids"  of  all  work?  On  ocean  liners  it  is  the  stew- 
ards that  take  care  of  the  state-rooms,  and  they  keep 
them  like  wax,  and  make  the  best  bed  known  to 
civilization.  The  stewardesses  in  heavy  weather  at- 
tend to  the  prostrate  of  their  sex,  but  otherwise  do 
nothing  but  bring  the  morning  tea,  hook  up,  and  re- 
ceive tips.  Men  wait  in  the  diningroom  (as  they 
do  in  all  first-class  hotels),  and  look  out  for  the  pas- 
sengers on  deck.  Not  the  most  militant  suffragette 
but  would  be  intensely  annoyed  to  have  stewardesses 


238  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

scurrying  about  on  a  heaving  deck  with  the  morning 
broth  and  rugs,  or  dancing  attendance  in  a  nauseous 
sea. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  there  is  a  vast 
number  of  men  of  all  races  who  are  fit  to  be  nothing 
but  servants,  and  are  so  misplaced  in  other  positions 
where  habit  or  vanity  has  put  them,  that  they  fail 
far  more  constantly  than  women.  All  "men"  are  not 
real  men  by  any  means.  They  are  not  fitted  to  play 
a  man's  part  in  life,  and  many  of  the  things  they 
attempt  are  far  better  done  by  strong  determined 
women,  who  have  had  the  necessary  advantages,  and 
the  character  to  ignore  the  handicap  of  sex. 

I  can  conceive  of  a  household  where  a  well-trained 
man  cooks,  does  the  "wash,"  waits  on  the  table, 
sweeps,  and  if  the  mistress  has  a  young  child,  or 
is  indolent  and  given  to  the  rocking-chair  and  a  novel- 
a-day,  makes  the  beds  without  a  wrinkle.  He  may 
lack  ambition  and  initiative,  the  necessary  amount  of 
brains  to  carry  him  to  success  in  any  of  the  old  mas- 
culine jobs,  but  he  inherits  the  thoroughness  of  the 
ages  that  have  trained  him,  and,  if  sober,  rides  the 
heavy  waves  of  his  job  like  a  cork.  I  will  venture 
to  say  that  a  man  thus  employed  would  finish  his  work 
before  eight  P.M.  and  spend  an  hour  or  two  before 
bed-time  with  his  girl  or  at  his  club. 

Many  a  Jap  in  California  does  the  amount  of  work 
I  have  described,  and  absorbs  knowledge  in  and  out 
of  books  during  his  hours  of  leisure.  Sometimes  they 
do  more  than  I  have  indicated  as  possible  for  the  white 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE    239 

man.  Energetic  boys,  who  want  to  return  to  Japan 
as  soon  as  possible,  or,  mayhap,  buy  a  farm,  make  a 
hundred  dollars  a  mqnth  by  getting  up  at  five  in  the 
morning  to  wash  a  certain  number  of  stoops  and  sweep 
sidewalks,  cook  a  breakfast  and  wash  up  the  dinner 
dishes  in  one  servantless  household,  the  lunch  dishes 
in  another,  clean  up  generally  in  another,  cook  the 
dinner,  wait  on  the  table,  clean  up  in  still  another. 
As  white  men  are  stronger  they  could  do  even  more, 
and  support  a  wife  in  an  intensive  little  flat  where  her 
work  would  be  both  light  and  spiritually  remunera- 
tive. Domestic  service  would  solve  the  terrible  prob- 
lem of  life  for  thousands  of  men,  and  it  would 
coincidentally  release  thousands  of  girls  from  the  fac- 
tory, the  counter,  and  the  exhausting  misery  of  a 
"home"  that  never  can  be  their  own.  At  night  he 
could  feel  like  a  householder  and  that  he  lived  to  some 
purpose.  If  he  is  inclined  to  complain  that  such  a  life 
is  not  "manly,"  let  him  reflect  that  as  he  is  not  first- 
rate  anyhow,  and  never  can  compete  with  the  fully 
equipped,  he  had  best  be  philosophical  and  get  what 
comfort  out  of  life  he  can.  Certainly  the  increased 
economic  value  of  thousands  of  men,  at  present  slav- 
ing as  underpaid  clerks  and  living  in  hall  bedrooms, 
would  thin  the  ranks  of  the  most  ancient  of  all  indus- 
tries, if,  according  to  our  ardent  reformers,  they  are 
recruited  from  the  ranks  of  the  lonely  servant-girl, 
the  tired  shop-girl,  and  the  despairing  factory  hand. 


240  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

in 

For  it  is  largely  a  question  of  muscle  and  biology. 

I  have  stated  elsewhere  that  I  believe  in  equal  suf- 
frage, if  only  because  women  are  the  mothers  of  men 
and  therefore  their  equals.  But  I  think  there  are  sev- 
eral times  more  reasons  why  American  women  at  least 
should  not  overwork  their  bodies  and  brains  and  wear 
themselves  out  trying  to  be  men,  than  why  it  is  quite 
right  and  fitting  they  should  walk  up  to  the  polls  and 
cast  a  vote  for  men  who  more  or  less  control  their 
destinies. 

To  digress  a  moment :  When  it  comes  to  the  arts, 
that  is  quite  another  matter.  If  a  woman  finds  herself 
with  a  talent  (I  refrain  from  such  a  big  word  as 
genius,  as  only  posterity  should  presume  to  apply  that 
term  to  any  one's  differentiation  from  his  fellows),  by 
all  means  let  her  work  like  a  man,  take  a  man's  chances, 
make  every  necessary  sacrifice  to  develop  this  blessed 
gift;  not  only  because  it  is  a  duty  but  because  the  re- 
wards are  adequate.  The  artistic  career,  where  the 
impulse  is  genuine,  furnishes  both  in  its  rewards  and 
in  the  exercise  of  the  gift  itself  far  more  happiness, 
or  even  satisfaction,  than  husband,  children,  or  home. 
The  chief  reason  is  that  it  is  the  supreme  form  of 
self-expression,  the  ego's  apotheosis,  the  power  to 
indulge  in  the  highest  order  of  spiritual  pride,  differen- 
tiation from  the  mass.  These  are  brutal  truths,  and 
another  truth  is  that  happiness  is  the  universal  goal, 
whatever  form  it  may  take,  and  whatever  form  human 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE     241 

hypocrisy  may  compel  it  to  take,  or  even  to  deny. 
Scientific  education  has  taught  us  not  to  sacrifice  others 
too  much  in  its  pursuit.  That  branch  of  ancestral 
memory  known  as  conscience  has  morbid  reactions. 

To  create,  to  feel  something  spinning  out  of  your 
brain,  which  you  hardly  realize  is  there  until  formu- 
lated on  paper,  for  instance;  the  adventurous  life 
involved  in  the  exercise  of  any  art,  with  its  uncertain- 
ties, its  varieties,  its  disappointments,  its  mistakes; 
the  fight,  the  exaltations,  the  supreme  satisfactions — 
all  this  is  the  very  best  life  has  to  offer.  And  as  art 
is  as  impartial  as  a  microbic  disease,  women  do  achieve, 
individually,  as  much  as  men;  sometimes  more.  If 
their  bulk  has  not  in  the  past  been  as  great,  the  original 
handicaps,  which  women  in  general,  aided  by  science 
and  a  more  enlightened  public,  are  fast  shedding,  alone 
were  to  blame.  Certainly  as  many  women  as  men  in 
the  United  States  are  engaged  in  artistic  careers ;  more, 
if  one  judged  by  the  proportion  in  the  magazines. 

Although  I  always  feel  that  a  man,  owing  to  the 
greater  freedom  of  his  life  and  mental  inheritances, 
has  more  to  tell  me  than  most  women  have,  and  I 
therefore  prefer  men  as  writers,  still  I  see  very  little 
difference  in  the  quality  of  their  work.  Often,  indeed, 
the  magazine  fiction  (in  America)  of  the  women 
shows  greater  care  in  phrase  and  workmanship  than 
that  of  the  men  (who  are  hurried  and  harried  by 
expensive  families),  and  often  quite  as  much  virility. 

No  one  ever  has  found  life  a  lake.  Life  is  a 
stormy  ocean  at  best,  and  if  any  woman  with  a  real 


242  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

gift  prefers  to  sink  rather  than  struggle,  or  to  float 
back  to  shore  on  a  raft,  she  deserves  neither  sympathy 
nor  respect.  Women  born  with  that  little  tract  in 
their  brain  sown  by  Nature  with  bulbs  of  one  of  the 
arts,  may  conquer  the  world  as  proudly  as  men,  al- 
though not  as  quickly,  for  they  rouse  in  disappointed 
or  apprehensive  men  the  meanest  form  of  sex  jeal- 
ousy; but  if  they  have  as  much  courage  as  talent,  if 
they  are  willing  to  dedicate  their  lives,  not  their  off 
hours,  to  the  tending  of  their  rich  oasis  in  the  general 
desert  of  mind,  success  is  theirs.  Biological  differ- 
ences between  the  sexes  evaporate  before  these  im- 
personal sexless  gifts  (or  whims  or  inadvertencies)  of 
conservative  Nature. 

Of  course  women  have  worked  themselves  to  death 
in  their  passionate  devotion  to  art.  So  have  men. 
Women  have  starved  to  death  in  garrets,  their  fine 
efforts  rejected  by  those  that  buy,  and  sell  again  to 
an  uncertain  public.  So  have  men.  The  dreariest 
anecdotes  of  England  and  France,  so  rich  in  letters, 
are  of  great  men-geniuses  who  died  young  for  want 
of  proper  nourishment  or  recognition,  or  who  strug- 
gled on  to  middle-age  in  a  bitterness  of  spirit  that 
corroded  their  high  endowment.  I  do  not  recall  that 
any  first-rate  women  writers  have  died  for  want  of 
recognition,  possibly  because  until  now  they  have  been 
few  and  far  between.  The  Brontes  died  young,  but 
mainly  because  they  lived  in  the  midst  of  a  damp  old 
churchyard  and  inherited  tubercular  tendencies.  The 
graves  and  old  box  tombs  crowd  the  very  walls  of  the 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE    243 

parsonage,  and  are  so  thick  you  hardly  can  walk  be- 
tween them.  I  spent  a  month  in  the  village  of 
Haworth,  but  only  one  night  in  the  village  inn  at  the 
extreme  end  of  the  churchyard;  I  could  read  the  in- 
scriptions on  the  tombs  from  my  windows. 

Charlotte  had  immediate  recognition  even  from  such 
men  as  Thackeray,  and  if  the  greater  Emily  had  to 
wait  for  Swinburne  and  posterity  it  was  inherited  con- 
sumption that  carried  her  off  in  her  youth.  Although 
much  has  been  made  of  their  poverty  I  don't  think 
they  were  so  badly  off  for  their  times.  The  parson- 
age is  a  well-built  stone  house,  their  father  had  his 
salary,  and  the  villagers  told  me  that  the  three  girls 
looked  after  the  poor  in  hard  winters,  often  supplying 
whole  families  with  coal.  Of  course  they  led  lives 
of  a  maddening  monotony,  but  they  were  neither  hun- 
gry nor  bitter,  and  at  least  two  of  them  developed 
a  higher  order  of  genius  than  was  possible  to  the  gifted 
Jane  Austin  in  her  smug  life  of  middle-class  plenty, 
and,  to  my  mind,  far  more  hampering  restrictions. 

Even  if  the  Brontes  had  been  sufficiently  in  advance 
of  their  times  to  "light  out"  and  seek  adventure  and 
development  in  the  great  world,  their  low  state  of 
health  would  have  kept  them  at  home.  So  impressed 
was  I  with  the  (to  a  Calif ornian)  terrible  pictures  of 
poverty  in  which  the  Brontes  were  posed  by  their  biog- 
raphers that  I  grew  up  with  the  idea  that  one  never 
could  develop  a  gift  or  succeed  in  the  higher  manner 
unless  one  lived  in  a  garret  and  half  starved.  I  never 
had  the  courage  to  try  the  regimen,  but  so  deep  was 


244  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

the  impression  that  I  never  have  been  able  to  work 
except  in  austere  surroundings,  and  I  have  worked 
in  most  abominably  uncomfortable  quarters  with  an 
equanimity  that  was  merely  the  result  of  the  death- 
less insistence  of  an  old  impression  sunk  deep  into  a 
mind  then  plastic. 

Let  me  hasten  to  add  that  many  successful  authors 
work  in  the  most  luxurious  quarters  imaginable.  It  is 
all  a  matter  of  temperament,  or,  it  may  be,  of  acci- 
dent. Moreover  this  outer  evidence  of  prosperity 
makes  a  subtle  appeal  to  the  snobbery  of  the  world 
and  to  a  certain  order  of  critic,  by  no  means  to  be 
despised.  Socially  and  in  the  arts  we  Americans  are 
the  least  democratic  of  people,  partly  because  we  are 
so  damnably  unsure  of  ourselves;  and  if  I  were  be- 
ginning my  career  to-day  I  doubt  if  I  should  be  so 
unbusiness-like  as  to  take  the  lowly  Brontes  as  a 
model. 

If  I  have  digressed  for  a  moment  from  the  main 
theme  of  this  book  it  has  been  not  only  to  show  what 
the  influence  of  such  brave  women  as  the  Brontes  has 
been  on  later  generations  of  writers,  but  that  biology 
must  doff  its  hat  at  the  tomb  in  Haworth  Church. 
Their  mental  virility  and  fecundity  equalled  that  of 
any  man  that  has  attained  an  equal  eminence  in  letters, 
and  they  would  have  died  young  and  suffered  much 
if  they  never  had  written  a  line.  They  had  not  a 
constitution  between  the  four  of  them  and  they  spent 
their  short  lives  surrounded  by  the  dust  and  the  cor- 
ruption of  death. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE    245 

IV 

But  when  it  comes  to  working  like  men  for  the 
sake  of  independence,  of  avoiding  marriage,  of  "doing 
something,"  that  is  another  matter.  To  my  mind  it 
is  abominable  that  society  is  so  constituted  that 
women  are  forced  to  work  (in  times  of  peace)  for 
their  bread  at  tasks  that  are  far  too  hard  for  them, 
that  extract  the  sweetness  from  youth,  and  unfit  them 
physically  for  what  the  vast  majority  of  women  want 
more  than  anything  else  in  life — children.  If  they 
deliberately  prefer  independence  to  marriage,  well  and 
good,  but  surely  we  are  growing  civilized  enough 
(and  this  war,  in  itself  a  plunge  into  the  dark  ages, 
has  in  quite  unintentional  ways  advanced  civilization, 
for  never  in  the  history  of  the  world  have  so  many 
brains  been  thinking)  so  to  arrange  the  social  ma- 
chinery that  if  girls  and  young  women  are  forced  to 
work  for  their  daily  bread,  and  often  the  bread  of 
others,  at  least  it  shall  be  under  conditions,  including 
double  shifts,  that  will  enable  them,  if  the  oppor- 
tunity comes,  as  completely  to  enjoy  all  that  home 
means  as  falls  to  the  lot  of  their  more  fortunate  sis- 
ters. Even  those  who  launch  out  in  life  with  no 
heavier  need  than  their  driving  independence  of 
spirit  should  be  protected,  for  often  they  too,  when 
worn  in  body  and  mind,  realize  that  the  independent 
life  per  se  is  a  delusion,  and  that  their  completion  as 
well  as  their  ultimate  happiness  and  economic  security 
lies  in  a  brood  and  a  husband  to  support  it. 

There  used  to  be  volumes  of  indignation  expended 


246  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

upon  the  American  mother  toiling  in  the  home,  at  the 
wash-tub  for  hire,  or  trudging  daily  to  some  remun- 
erative task,  while  her  daughters,  after  a  fair  educa- 
tion, idly  flirted,  and  danced,  and  read,  and  finally 
married.  Now,  although  that  modus  operandi  sounds 
vulgar  and  ungrateful  it  is,  biologically  speaking, 
quite  as  it  should  be.  Girls  of  that  age  should  be 
tended  as  carefully  as  young  plants;  and,  for  that 
matter,  it  would  be  well  if  women  until  they  have 
passed  the  high-water  mark  of  reproductivity  should 
be  protected  as  much  as  possible  from  severe  physical 
and  mental  strain.  If  women  ever  are  to  compete 
with  men  on  anything  like  an  equal  basis,  it  is  when 
they  are  in  their  middle  years,  when  Nature's  handi- 
caps are  fairly  outgrown,  child-bearing  and  its  inter- 
vening years  of  lassitude  are  over,  as  well  as  the  recur- 
rent carboniferous  wastes  and  relaxations. 

Why  do  farmers'  wives  look  so  much  older  than 
city  women  of  the  same  age  in  comfortable  circum- 
stances? Not,  we  may  be  sure,  because  of  exposure 
to  the  elements,  or  even  the  tragic  loneliness  that  was 
theirs  before  the  pervasion  of  the  automobile.  Women 
in  city  flats  are  lonely  enough,  but  although  those 
that  have  no  children  or  "light  housekeeping"  lead 
such  useless  lives  one  wonders  why  they  were  born, 
they  outlast  the  women  of  the  small  towns  by  many 
years  because  of  the  minimum  strain  on  their  bodies.* 

As  a  matter  of  fact  in  the  large  cities  where  the 
struggle  of  life  is  superlative  they  outlast  the  men. 

*The  French  are  far  too  clever  to  let  the  women  in  the  munition  fac- 
tories injure  themselves.  They  have  double,  treble,  and  even  quadruple 
shifts. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE    247 

About  the  time  the  children  are  grown,  the  husband, 
owing  to  the  prolonged  and  terrific  strain  in  com- 
peting with  thousands  of  men  as  competent  as  himself, 
to  keep  his  family  in  comfort,  educate  his  children, 
pay  the  interest  on  his  life  insurance  policy,  often 
finds  that  some  one  of  his  organs  is  breaking  down 
and  preparing  him  for  the  only  rest  he  will  ever  find 
time  to  take.  Meanwhile  his  prospective  widow  (there 
is,  by  the  way,  no  nation  in  the  world  so  prolific  of 
widows  and  barren  of  widowers  as  the  United  States) 
is  preparing  to  embark  on  her  new  career  as  a  club 
woman,  or,  if  she  foresees  the  collapse  of  the  family 
income,  of  self-support. 

And  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  if  she  has  the  in- 
telligence to  make  use  of  what  a  combination  of  aver- 
age abilities  and  experience  has  developed  in  her,  she 
succeeds,  and  permanently;  for  women  do  not  go  to 
pieces  between  forty  and  fifty  as  they  did-  in  the 
past.  They  have  learned  too  much.  Work  and  multi- 
farious interests  distract  their  mind,  which  formerly 
dwelt  upon  their  failing  youth,  and  when  they  sadly 
composed  themselves  in  the  belief  that  they  had  given 
the  last  of  their  vitality  to  the  last  of  their  children; 
to-day,  instead  of  sitting  down  by  the  fireside  and 
waiting  to  die,  they  enter  resolutely  upon  their  second 
youth,  which  is,  all  told,  a  good  deal  more  satisfac- 
tory than  the  first. 

Every  healthy  and  courageous  woman's  second 
vitality  is  stronger  and  more  enduring  than  her  first. 
Not  only  has  her  body,  assisted  by  modern  science, 


248  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

settled  down  into  an  ordered  routine  that  is  impreg- 
nable to  anything  but  accident,  but  her  mind  is  deliv- 
ered from  the  hopes  and  fears  of  the  early  sex 
impulses  which  so  often  sicken  the  cleverest  of  the 
younger  women  both  in  body  and  mind,  filling  the 
body  with  lassitude  and  the  mind  either  with  restless 
impatience  or  a  complete  indifference  to  anything  but 
the  tarrying  prince.  To  blame  them  for  this  would 
be  much  like  cursing  Gibraltar  for  not  getting  out  of 
the  way  in  a  storm.  They  are  the  tools  of  the  race, 
the  chosen  mediums  of  Nature  for  the  perpetuation 
of  her  beloved  species.  But  the  fact  remains — that 
is  to  say,  in  the  vast  majority  of  girls.  There  is,  as 
we  all  know,  the  hard-shell  division  of  their  sex  who, 
even  without  a  gift,  infinitely  prefer  the  single  and 
independent  life  in  their  early  youth,  and  only  begin 
to  show  thin  spots  in  their  armor  as  they  approach 
thirty,  sometimes  not  until  it  is  far  too  late.  But  if 
you  will  spend  a  few  days  walking  through  the  depart- 
ment stores,  for  instance,  of  a  large  city  and  observing 
each  of  the  young  faces  in  turn  behind  the  counters, 
it  will  be  rarely  that  you  will  not  feel  reasonably  cer- 
tain that  the  secret  thoughts  of  all  that  vast  army 
circle  persistently  about  some  man,  impinging  or 
potential.  And  wherever  you  make  your  studies,  from 
excursion  boats  to  the  hour  of  release  at  the  gates  of 
a  factory,  you  must  draw  the  same  conclusion  that 
sex  reigns,  that  it  is  the  most  powerful  factor  in  life 
and  will  be  so  long  as  Earth  at  least  continues  to 
spin.  For  that  reason,  no  matter  how  persistently 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE    249 

girls  may  work  because  they  must  or  starve,  it  is  the 
competent  older  women,  long  since  outgrown  the 
divine  nonsense  of  youth,  who  are  the  more  satisfac- 
tory workers.  Girls,  unless  indifferently  sexed,  do 
not  take  naturally  to  work  in  their  youth.  Whether 
they  have  the  intelligence  to  reason  or  not,  they  know 
that  they  were  made  for  a  different  fate  and  they 
resent  standing  behind  a  counter  all  day  long  or 
speeding  up  machinery  for  a  few  dollars  a  week.  Even 
the  highly  intelligent  girls  who  find  work  on  news- 
papers often  look  as  if  they  were  at  the  end  of  their 
endurance.  It  is  doubtful  if  the  world  ever  can  run 
along  without  the  work  of  women  but  the  time  will 
surely  come  when  society  will  be  so  constituted  that 
no  woman  in  the  first  flush  of  her  youth  will  be  forced 
to  squander  it  on  the  meager  temporary  reward,  and 
forfeit  her  birthright.  If  she  wants  to,  well  and 
good.  No  one  need  be  deeply  concerned  for  those 
that  launch  out  into  life  because  they  like  it.  Women 
in  civilized  countries  are  at  liberty  to  make  their  own 
lives ;  that  is  the  supreme  privilege  of  democracy.  But 
the  victims  of  the  propelling  power  of  the  world  are 
greatly  to  be  pitied  and  Society  should  come  to  their 
rescue.  I  know  that  the  obvious  answer  to  this  is 
"Socialism."  But  before  the  rest  of  us  can  swallow 
Socialism  it  must  spew  out  its  present  Socialists  and 
get  new  ones.  Socialists  never  open  their  mouths  that 
they  do  not  do  their  cause  harm ;  and  whatever  virtue 
their  doctrine  may  contain  we  are  blinded  to  it  at 
present.  This  war  may  solve  the  problem.  If  Social- 


250  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

ism  should  be  the  inevitable  outcome  it  would  at  least 
come  from  the  top  and  so  be  sufferable. 


It  is  all  very  well  to  do  your  duty  by  your  sex  and 
keep  up  the  birth-rate,  and  there  are  compensations,  no 
doubt  of  that,  when  the  husband  is  amiable,  the  income 
adequate,  and  the  children  are  dears  and  turn  out  well ; 
but  the  second  life  is  one's  very  own,  the  duty  is  to 
one's  self,  and,  such  is  the  ineradicable  selfishness  of 
human  nature  after  long  years  of  self-denial  and  devo- 
tion to  others,  there  is  a  distinct,  if  reprehensible,  satis- 
faction in  being  quite  natural  and  self -centered.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  circumstances  are  such  that  the 
capable  middle-aged  woman,  instead  of  living  entirely 
for  herself,  in  her  clubs,  in  her  increasing  interest  in 
public  affairs,  and  her  chosen  work,  finds  herself  with 
certain  members  of  her  family  dependent  upon  her, 
she  also  derives  from  this  fact  an  enormous  satisfac- 
tion, for  it  enables  her  to  prove  that  she  can  fill  a 
man's  place  in  the  world,  be  quite  as  equal  to  her  job. 

Instead  of  breaking  down,  this  woman,  who  has 
outlived  the  severest  handicap  of  sex  without  parting 
with  any  of  its  lore,  grows  stronger  and  more  poised 
every  year,  retaining  (or  regaining)  her  looks  if  she 
has  the  wisdom  to  keep  her  vanity  alive ;  while  the  girl 
forced  to  spend  her  days  on  her  feet  behind  a  counter 
(we  hear  of  seats  for  these  girls  but  we  never  see 
them  occupied),  or  slave  in  a  factory  (where  there  is 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE     251 

no  change  of  shift  as  in  the  munition  factories  of  the 
European  countries  in  war  time),  or  work  from  morn- 
ing until  night  as  a  general  servant — "one  in  help" — 
wilts  and  withers,  grows  pasee,  fanee,  is  liable  to  ulti- 
mate breakdown  unless  rescued  by  some  man. 

The  expenditure  of  energy  in  these  girls  is  enor- 
mous, especially  if  they  combine  with  this  devitalizing 
work  an  indulgence  in  their  natural  desire  to  play. 
Rapid  child-bearing  would  not  deplete  them  more; 
and  it  is  an  intensely  ignorant  or  an  intensely  stupid 
or,  in  the  United  States,  an  exceptionally  sensual 
woman  who  has  a  larger  family  than  the  husband  can 
keep  in  comfort.  Moreover,  unless  in  the  depths  of 
poverty,  each  child  means  a  period  of  rest,  which  is 
more  than  the  girl  behind  the  counter  gets  in  her  entire 
working  period. 

These  women,  forced  by  a  faulty  social  structure 
to  support  themselves  and  carry  heavy  burdens,  lack 
the  intense  metabolism  of  the  male,  his  power  to  hus- 
band his  stores  of  carbon  (an  organic  exception  which 
renders  him  indifferent  to  standing),  and  the  superior 
quality  of  his  muscle.  Biologically  men  and  women 
are  different  from  crown  to  sole.  It  might  be  said 
that  Nature  fashioned  man's  body  for  warfare,  and 
that  if  he  grows  soft  during  intervals  of  peace  it  is 
his  own  fault.  Even  so,  unless  in  some  way  he  has 
impaired  his  health,  he  has  heretofore  demonstrated 
that  he  can  do  far  more  work  than  women,  and  stand 
several  times  the  strain,  although  his  pluck  may  be 
no  finer. 


252  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

If  one  rejects  this  statement  let  him  look  about 
among  his  acquaintance  at  the  men  who  have  toiled 
hard  to  achieve  an  independence,  and  whose  wives 
have  toiled  with  them,  either  because  they  lived  in 
communities  where  it  was  impossible  to  keep  servants, 
or  out  of  a  mistaken  sense  of  economy.  The  man 
looks  fresh  and  his  wife  elderly  and  wrinkled  and 
shapeless,  even  if  she  has  reasonable  health.  It  is  quite 
different  in  real  cities  where  life  on  a  decent  income 
(or  salary)  can  be  made  very  easy  for  the  woman,  as 
I  have  just  pointed  out;  but  I  have  noticed  that  in 
small  towns  or  on  the  farm,  even  now,  when  these 
scattered  families  are  no  longer  isolated  as  in  the  days 
when  farmers'  wives  committed  suicide  or  intoxicated 
themselves  on  tea  leaves,  the  woman  always  looks  far 
older  than  the  man  if  "she  has  done  her  own  work" 
during  all  the  years  of  her  youth  and  maturity.  If 
she  renounces  housekeeping  in  disgust  occasionally  and 
moves  to  an  hotel,  she  soon  amazes  her  friends  by 
looking  ten  years  younger;  and  if  her  husband  makes 
enough  money  to  move  to  a  city  large  enough  to 
minimize  the  burdens  of  housekeeping  and  offer  a  rea- 
sonable amount  of  distraction,  she  recovers  a  certain 
measure  of  her  youth,  although  still  far  from  being  at 
forty  or  fifty  what  she  would  have  been  if  her  earlier 
years  had  been  relieved  of  all  but  the  strains  which 
Nature  imposes  upon  every  woman  from  princess  to 
peasant. 

It  remains  to  be  seen  whether  the  extraordinary 
amount  of  work  the  European  women  are  doing  in 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE     253 

the  service  of  their  country,  and  the  marked  improve- 
ment in  their  health  and  physique^  marks  a  stride 
forward  in  the  physical  development  of  the  sex,  being 
the  result  of  latent  possibilities  never  drawn  upon  be- 
fore, or  is  merely  the  result  of  will  power  and  exalta- 
tion, and  bound  to  exhibit  its  definite  limit  as  soon 
as  the  necessity  is  withdrawn.  The  fact,  of  course, 
remains  that  the  women  of  the  farms  and  lower 
classes  generally  in  France  are  almost  painfully  plain, 
and  look  hard  and  weather-beaten  long  before  they 
are  thirty,  while  the  higher  you  mount  the  social  scale 
in  your  researches  the  more  the  women  of  France, 
possessing  little  orthodox  beauty,  manage,  with  a  com- 
bination of  style,  charm,  sophistication,  and  grooming, 
to  produce  the  effect  not  only  of  beauty  but  of  a 
unique  standard  that  makes  the  beauties  of  other  na- 
tions commonplace  by  comparison. 

Nevertheless,  the  fact  remains  that  these  girls  and 
young  women  working  in  the  U sines  de  Guerre,  are 
better  looking  than  they  were  before  and  shine  with 
health.  The  whole  point,  I  fancy,  lies  in  the  fact  that 
they  work  under  merciful  masters  and  conditions.  If 
they  were  used  beyond  their  capacity  they  would  look 
like  their  sisters  on  the  farms,  upon  whom  fathers  and 
husbands  have  little  mercy. 

When  girls  in  good  circumstances  become  infected 
with  the  microbe  of  violent  exercise  and  insist  upon 
walking  many  miles  a  day,  besides  indulging  for  hours 
in  games  which  permit  no  rest,  they  look  like  hags. 
Temporarily,  of  course.  When  they  recover  their 


254  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

common  sense  they  recover  their  looks,  for  it  is  in 
their  power  to  relax  and  recuperate.  Men  will  walk 
twenty  miles,  take  a  cold  shower,  a  good  meal,  a 
night's  rest,  and  look  as  well  as  ever  the  next  day — 
or  at  the  end  of  the  walk,  for  that  matter.  They  can 
afford  the  waste.  Women  cannot.  If  women  succeed 
in  achieving  hard  unyielding  muscles  in  the  wrong 
place  they  suffer  atrociously  in  childbirth ;  for  Nature, 
who  is  as  old-fashioned  and  inhospitable  to  modern 
ideas  as  a  Tory  statesman,  takes  a  vicious  pleasure  in 
punishing  one  sex  every  time  it  succeeds  in  approach- 
ing the  peculiar  level  of  the  other,  or  which  diverges 
from  the  normal  in  any  way.  Note  how  many  artists, 
who  are  nine-tenths  temperament  and  one-tenth  male, 
suffer ;  not  only  because  they  are  beset  with  every  sort 
of  weakness  that  affects  their  social  status,  but  because 
the  struggle  with  life  is  too  much  for  them  unless 
they  have  real  men  behind  them  until  their  output  is 
accepted  by  the  public,  and  themselves  with  it. 

Some  day  Society  will  be  civilized  enough  to  rec- 
ognize the  limitations  and  the  helplessness  of  those 
who  are  artists  first  and  men  afterwards.  But  mean- 
while we  can  only  rely  upon  the  sympathy  and  the 
understanding  of  the  individual. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  advise  that  girls  refrain  from 
doing  their  part  in  the  general  work  of  the  home, 
if  servants  are  out  of  the  question;  that  won't  hurt 
them;  but  if  some  one  must  go  out  and  support  the 
family  it  would  better  be  the  mother  or  the  maiden 
aunt 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE    255 

Better  still,  a  husband,  if  marriage  is  their  goal  and 
children  the  secret  desire  of  their  hearts. 

If  girls  are  so  constituted  mentally  that  they  long 
for  the  independent  life,  self-support,  self-expression, 
they  will  have  it  and  without  any  advice  from  the 
worldly-wise ;  it  is  as  driving  an  impulse  as  the  repro- 
ductive instinct  in  those  who  are  more  liberally  sexed. 
And  these  last  are  still  in  the  majority,  no  doubt  of 
that.  Therefore,  far  better  they  marry  and  have  chil- 
dren in  their  youth.  They,  above  all,  are  the  women 
whose  support  and  protection  is  the  natural  duty  of 
man,  and  while  it  is  one  of.  life's  misfortunes  for  a 
girl  to  marry  simply  to  escape  life's  burdens,  without 
love  and  without  the  desire  for  children,  it  is  by  far 
the  lesser  evil  to  have  the  consolation  of  home  and 
children  in  the  general  barrenness  of  life  than  to  slave 
all  day  at  an  uncongenial  task  and  go  "home"  to  a  hall 
bedroom. 

These  views  were  so  much  misunderstood  when 
they  appeared  in  magazine  form  that  I  have  felt  ob- 
liged to  emphasize  the  differences  between  the  still 
primitive  woman  and  the  woman  who  is  the  product 
of  the  higher  civilization.  One  young  socialist,  who 
looked  quite  strong  enough  to  support  a  family,  asked 
me  if  I  did  not  think  it  better  for  a  girl  to  support 
herself  than  to  be  the  slave  of  a  man's  lust  and  bear 
innumerable  children,  whether  she  wished  for  them  or 
not,  children  to  whose  support  society  contributed 
nothing.  But  why  be  a  man's  slave,  and  why  have 
more  children  than  you  can  support?  We  live  in  the 


256  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

enlightened  twentieth  century,  when  there  is  precious- 
little  about  anything  that  women  do  not  know,  and  if 
they  do  not  they  are  such  hopeless  fools  that  they 
should  be  in  the  State  Institutions.  The  time  has 
passed  for  women  to  talk  of  being  men's  slaves  in  any 
sense,  except  in  the  economic.  There  are  still  sweat- 
shops and  there  is  still  speeding  up  in  factories,  be- 
cause society  is  still  far  from  perfect,  but  if  a  woman 
privately  is  a  man's  slave  to-day  it  is  because  she  is  the 
slave  of  herself  as  well. 


VI 

Personally,  although  nothing  has  ever  tempted  me 
to  marry  a  second  time,  I  am  very  glad  I  married  in 
my  early  youth,  not  only  because  matrimony  enables 
a  potential  writer  to  see  life  from  many  more  view- 
points than  if  she  remains  blissfully  single,  but  because 
I  was  sheltered  from  all  harsh  contacts  with  the  world. 
No  one  was  ever  less  equipped  by  nature  for  do- 
mesticity and  all  the  responsibilities  of  everyday  life, 
and  if  circumstances  had  so  ordered  that  I  had  not 
blundered  into  matrimony  before  twenty-four-or-five, 
no  doubt  I  never  should  have  married  at  all. 

But  at  that  time — I  was  home  on  a  vacation  from 
boarding-school,  and  had  had  none  of  that  illuminating 
experience  known  as  being  "out,"  I  did  no  reasoning 
whatever.  On  the  other  hand  I  was  far  too  mentally 
undeveloped  and  arrogant  to  be  capable  at  that  tender 
age  of  falling  deeply  in  love.  My  future  husband 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE    257 

proposed  six  times  (we  were  in  a  country  house).  I 
was  flattered,  divided  between  the  ambition  to  graduate 
brilliantly  and  to  be  an  author  with  no  further  loss 
of  time,  and  wear  becoming  caps  and  trains  to  my 
frocks.  On  the  other  hand  I  wanted  neither  a  husband 
particularly  nor  to  go  back  to  school,  for  I  felt  that 
as  my  grandfather  had  one  of  the  best  libraries  in 
California  nothing  could  be  more  pleasant  or  profit- 
able than  to  finish  my  education  in  it  undisturbed. 
Nevertheless,  quite  abruptly  I  made  up  my  mind  and 
married;  and,  if  the  truth  were  known,  my  reasons 
and  impulses  were  probably  as  intelligent  as  those  of 
the  average  young  girl  who  knows  the  world  only 
through  books  and  thinks  it  has  little  more  to  teach 
her.  My  life  had  been  objective  and  sheltered.  If 
forced  to  earn  my  living  at  sixteen  no  doubt  the  con- 
tacts impossible  to  escape  would  soon  have  given  me  a 
real  maturity  of  judgment  and  I  should  have  grown  to 
love,  jealously,  my  freedom. 

That  is  to  say,  if  I  had  been  a  strong  girl.  As  a 
matter-of-fact  I  was  extremely  delicate,  with  a  weak 
back,  a  threat  of  tuberculosis,  and  very  bad  eyes.  Most 
of  this  was  the  result  of  over-study,  for  I  had  been 
a  healthy  child,  but  I  loved  books  and  was  indifferent 
to  exercise  and  nourishment.  No  doubt  if  I  had  been 
turned  out  into  the  world  to  fare  for  myself  I  should 
have  gone  into  a  decline.  Therefore,  it  was  sheer  luck 
that  betrayed  me  into  matrimony,  for  although  my 
mental  energies  were  torpid  for  several  years  my  first 
child  seemed  to  dissipate  the  shadows  that  lay  in  my 


258  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

blood,  and  at  twenty-five  I  was  a  normally  strong 
woman.  We  lived  in  the  country.  My  husband  looked 
after  the  servants,  and  if  we  were  without  a  cook  for 
several  days  he  filled  her  place  (he  had  learned  to 
cook  "camping  out"  and  liked  nothing  better)  until 
my  mother-in-law  sent  a  woman  from  San  Francisco. 
I  read,  strolled  about  the  woods,  storing  up  vitality 
but  often  depressed  with  the  unutterable  ennui  of 
youth,  and  haunted  with  the  fear  that  my  story-telling 
faculty,  which  had  been  very  pronounced,  had  de- 
serted me. 

When  my  husband  died  I  had  but  one  child.  I  left 
her  with  her  two  adoring  grandmothers  and  fled  to 
New  York.  I  was  still  as  callow  as  a  boarding-school 
girl,  but  my  saving  grace  was  that  I  knew  I  did  not 
know  anything,  that  I  never  would  know  enough  to 
write  about  life  until  I  had  seen  more  of  it  than  was 
on  exhibition  in  California. 

But  by  that  time  my  health  was  established.  I  felt 
quite  equal  to  writing  six  books  a  year  if  any  one 
would  publish  them,  besides  studying  life  at  first  hand 
as  persistently  and  deeply  as  the  present  state  of 
society  will  permit  in  the  case  of  a  mere  woman.  For 
that  reason  I  shall  always  be  sorry  I  did  not  go  on 
a  newspaper  for  a  year  as  a  reporter,  as  there  is  no 
other  way  for  a  woman  to  see  life  in  all  its  phases.  I 
had  a  letter  to  Charles  Dana,  owner  of  the  New  York 
Sun,  and  no  doubt  he  would  have  put  me  to  work,  but 
I  was  still  too  pampered,  or  too  snobbish,  and,  lacking 
the  spur  of  necessity,  missed  one  of  the  best  of  educa- 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MIDDLE-AGE    259 

tions.  Now,  no  matter  who  asks  my  advice  in  regard 
to  the  literary  career,  whether  she  is  the  ambitious 
daughter  of  a  millionaire  or  a  girl  whose  talent  is  for 
the  story  and  whose  future  depends  upon  herself,  I 
invariably  give  her  one  piece  of  advice :  "Go  on  a 
newspaper.  Be  a  reporter.  Refuse  no  assignment. 
Be  thankful  for  a  merciless  City  Editor  and  his  blue 
pencil.  But,  if  you  feel  that  you  have  the  genuine 
story-telling  gift,  save  your  money  and  leave  at  the 
end  of  a  year,,  or  two  years  at  most." 

As  for  myself,  I  absorbed  life  as  best  I  could,  met 
people  in  as  many  walks  of  life  as  possible.  As  I 
would  not  marry  again,  and,  in  consequence,  had  no 
more  children,  nor  suffered  from  the  wearing  monot- 
onies of  domestic  life,  I  have  always  kept  my  health 
and  been  equal  to  an  immense  amount  of  work. 

But  the  point  is  that  I  had  been  sheltered  and  pro- 
tected during  my  delicate  years.  No  doubt  it  was  a 
part  of  my  destiny  to  hand  on  the  intensely  American 
qualities  of  body  and  mind  I  had  inherited  from  my 
Dutch  and  English  forefathers,  as  well  as  to  do  my 
share  in  carrying  on  the  race.  But  I  got  rid  of  all 
that  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  struck  out  for  that 
plane  of  modern  civilization  planted  and  furrowed 
and  replenished  by  daughters  of  men. 


THERE  is  nothing  paradoxical  in  affirming  that 
while  no  woman  before  she  has  reached  the  age 
of  thifty-five  or  forty  should,  if  she  can  avoid  it, 
compete  with  men  in  work  which  the  exigencies  of 
civilization  (man-made  civilization)  have  adapted  to 
him  alone,  still,  every  girl  of  every  class,  from  the 
industrial  straight  up  to  the  plutocratic,  should  be 
trained  in  some  congenial  vocation  during  her  plastic 
years.  Civilization  in  certain  respects  is  as  inadequate 
as  it  was  a  thousand  years  ago.  Socialism  might  solve 
the  problem  if  it  were  not  for  the  Socialists.  Cer- 
tainly no  man  or  body  of  men  has  yet  arisen  with  the 
proper  amount  of  imagination,  selflessness,  brains  and 
constructive  genius,  necessary  to  plan  a  social  order 
in  which  all  men  shall  work  without  overworking  and 
support  all  women  during  the  best  years  of  the  child- 
bearing  and  child-rearing  span.  If  men  had  been 
clever  enough  to  make  even  an  imperfect  attempt  to 
protect  women  without  independent  means  from  the 
terrors  of  life,  say  by  taxing  themselves,  they  would 
not  be  pestered  to-day  with  the  demand  for  equal 

260 


REAL  VICTIMS  OF  "SOCIETY"      261 

rights,  see  themselves  menaced  in  nearly  all  of  the 
remunerative  industries  and  professions,  above  all  by 
the  return  of  the  Matriarchate. 

It  is  Life  that  has  developed  the  fighting  instinct 
in  woman,  bred  the  mental  antagonism  of  sex.  Nature 
did  not  implant  either.  Nor  has  she  ever  wavered  a 
jot  from  the  original  mix  compounded  in  her  imme- 
morial laboratory.  Man  is  man  and  woman  is  woman 
to-day,  even  to  the  superior  length  of  limb  in  the  male 
(relative  to  the  trunk)  and  the  greater  thickness  of 
hairs  in  the  woman's  eyelashes.  In  England  women  of 
the  leisure  class  showed  during  the  years  of  the  sports 
craze  a  tendency  to  an  unfeminine  length  of  limb, 
often  attaining  or  surpassing  the  male  average.  But 
Nature  avenged  herself  by  narrowing  the  pelvis  and 
weakening  the  reproductive  organs.  Free  trade  drove 
the  old  sturdy  yeoman  into  the  towns  and  diminished 
the  stature  and  muscular  power  of  their  descendants, 
but  ten  months  of  trench  life  and  Nature  laughed  at 
the  weak  spot  in  civilization.  The  moment  false  con- 
ditions are  removed  she  claims  her  own. 

Women  to-day  may  prove  themselves  quite  capable 
of  doing,  and  permanently,  the  work  of  men  in  am- 
munition and  munition  factories,  but  it  is  patent  that 
when  human  bipeds  first  groped  their  way  about  the 
terrifying  Earth,  she  was  not  equal  to  the  task  of 
leveling  forests,  killing  the  beasts  that  roamed  them, 
hurling  spears  in  savage  warfare,  and  bearing  many 
children  for  many  years.  She  played  her  part  in  the 
scheme  of  things  precisely  as  Nature  had  meant  she 


262  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

should  play  it:  she  cooked,  she  soothed  the  warrior 
upon  his  return  from  killing  of  man  or  beast,  and  she 
brought  up  her  boys  to  be  warriors  and  her  girls  to 
serve  them.  There  you  have  Nature  and  her  original 
plan,  a  bald  and  uninteresting  plan,  but  eminently 
practical  for  the  mere  purpose  (which  is  all  that  con- 
cerns her)  of  keeping  the  world  going.  And  so  it 
would  be  to-day,  even  in  the  civilized  core,  if  man  had 
been  clever  enough  to  take  the  cue  Nature  flung  in 
his  face  and  kept  woman  where  to-day  he  so  ingenu- 
ously desires  to  see  her,  and  before  whose  deliverance 
he  is  as  helpless  as  old  Nature  herself. 

Man  obeyed  the  herding  instinct  whose  ultimate  ex- 
pression was  the  growth  of  great  cities,  invented  the 
telegraph,  the  cable,  the  school,  the  newspaper,  the 
glittering  shops,  the  public-lecture  system ;  and,  volun- 
tarily or  carelessly,  threw  open  to  women  the  gates 
of  all  the  arts,  to  say  nothing  of  the  crafts.  And 
all  the  while  he  not  only  continued  to  antagonize 
woman,  proud  and  eager  in  her  awakened  faculties, 
with  stupid  interferences,  embargoes  and  underhand 
thwartings,  but  he  permitted  her  to  struggle  and  die 
in  the  hideous  contacts  with  life  from  which  a  small 
self-imposed  tax  would  have  saved  her.  Some  of  the 
most  brilliant  men  the  world  will  ever  know  have 
lived,  and  administered,  and  passed  into  history,  and 
the  misery  of  helpless  women  has  increased  from  gen- 
eration to  generation,  while  coincidentally  her  intel- 
ligence has  waxed  from  resignation  or  perplexity 
through  indignation  to  a  grim  determination.  Man 


REAL  VICTIMS  OF  "SOCIETY"      263 

missed  his  chance  and  must  take  the  consequences. 

Certainly,  young  women  fulfill  their  primary  duty 
to  the  race  and,  incidentally,  do  all  that  should  be 
expected  of  them,  in  the  bringing  forth  and  rearing 
of  children,  making  the  home,  and  seeing  to  the  coher- 
ence of  the  social  groups  they  have  organized  for 
recreation  or  purely  in  the  interest  of  the  next  gen- 
eration. 

Perhaps  the  women  will  solve  the  problem.  I  can 
conceive  the  time  when  there  will  have  developed  an 
enormous  composite  woman's  brain  which,  combining 
superior  powers  of  intuition  and  sympathy  with  that 
high  intellectual  development  the  modern  conditions 
so  generously  permit,  added  to  their  increasing  knowl- 
edge of  and  interest  in  the  social,  economic,  and 
political  problems,  will  make  them  a  factor  in  the 
future  development  of  the  race,  gradually  bring  about 
a  state  of  real  civilization  which  twenty  generations 
of  men  have  failed  to  accomplish. 

But  that  is  not  yet,  and  we  may  all  be  dead  before  its 
heyday.  The  questions  of  the  moment  absorb  us.  We 
must  take  them  as  they  arise  and  do  the  best  we  can 
with  existing  conditions.  The  world  is  terribly  con- 
servative. Look  at  the  European  War. 

II 

Nowhere  are  fortunes  so  insecure  as  in  the  United 
States.  The  phrase,  "Three  generations  from  shirt- 
sleeves to  shirt-sleeves,"  was  not  coined  in  Europe. 


264  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

But  neither  does  it  embrace  a  great  American  truth 
Many  a  fortune  rises  and  falls  within  the  span  of  one 
generation.  Many  a  girl  reared  in  luxury,  or  what 
passes  in  her  class  for  luxury,  is  suddenly  forced  out 
into  the  economic  world  with  no  preparation  what- 
ever. It  would  be  interesting  to  gather  the  statistics 
of  men  who,  with  a  large  salary,  or  a  fair  practice, 
an  indulged  family,  and  a  certain  social  position  to 
keep  up,  either  vaguely  intend  to  save  and  invest  one 
of  these  days — perhaps  when  the  children  are  edu- 
cated— or  carry  a  large  life  insurance  which  they 
would  find  too  heavy  a  tax.  at  the  moment. 

Often,  indeed,  a  man  does  insure  his  life,  and  then 
in  some  year  of  panic  or  depression  is  forced  to  sell 
the  policy  or  go  under.  Or  he  insures  in  firms  that 
fail.  My  father  insured  in  three  companies  and  all 
failed  before  he  died.  In  San  Francisco  the  "earth- 
quake clause"  prevented  many  men  from  recovering 
a  penny  on  their  merchandise  or  investments  swept 
away  by  the  fire.  Even  a  large  number  of  the  rich 
were  embarrassed  by  that  fire,  for,  having  invested 
millions  in  Class  A  buildings,  which  were  fire-proof, 
they  saw  no  necessity  for  expending  huge  sums  an- 
nually in  premiums.  They  never  thought  of  a  general 
conflagration  whose  momentum  would  carry  the  flames 
across  the  street  and  into  their  buildings  through  the 
windows,  eating  up  the  interiors  and  leaving  the  fire- 
proof shell.  One  family  lost  six  million  dollars  in 
a  few  hours,  and  emigrated  to  one  of  the  Swiss  lakes 
in  order  to  be  able  to  educate  their  children  while 


REAL  VICTIMS  OF  "SOCIETY"      265 

their  fortunes  slowly  recovered  with  the  aid  of  bor- 
rowed capital. 

A  large  number  of  girls,  who,  without  being  rich, 
had  led  the  sheltered  life  before  the  fire,  were  obliged 
to  go  to  work  at  once.  Some  were  clever  enough  to 
know  what  they  could  do  and  did  it  without  loss  of 
time,  some  were  assisted,  others  blundered  along  and 
nearly  starved. 

Often  men  who  have  done  well  and  even  brilliantly 
up  to  middle  life,  are  not  equal  to  the  tremendous 
demand  upon  the  vital  energies  of  beginning  life  over 
again  after  some  disastrous  visitation  of  Nature,  or  a 
panic,  or  an  ill-advised  personal  venture  has  wrecked 
their  own  business  or  that  of  the  concern  in  which 
they  were  a  highly  paid  cog.  In  the  mining  States 
men  are  dependent  upon  the  world's  demand  for  their 
principal  product.  Farmers  and  stock-raisers  are 
often  cruelly  visited,  strikes  or  hard  times  paralyze 
mills  and  factories ;  and  in  times  of  panic  and  dry-rot 
the  dealers  in  luxuries,  including  booksellers — to  say 
nothing  of  the  writers  of  books  as  well  as  the  devotees 
of  all  the  arts — are  the  first  to  suffer.  And  it  is  their 
women  that  suffer  acutely,  because  although  many  of 
these  men  may  hang  on  and  recover,  many  more  do 
not.  They  have  used  up  their  vital  forces.  It  is  not 
so  much  a  matter  of  will  as  of  physics.  A  woman  in 
the  same  conditions  who  had  been  obliged  to  tax  her 
vital  organs  for  an  equal  number  of  years  would  no 
doubt  have  lasted  as  long. 

Unless  defective,  there  is  not  a  girl  alive,  certainly 


266  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

not  an  American  girl,  who  is  wholly  lacking  in  some 
sort  of  ability.  The  parasite  type  (who  is  growing 
rare  in  these  days,  by  the  way,  for  it  is  now  the 
fashion  to  "do  things")  either  fastens  herself  upon 
complacent  relatives  or  friends  when  deserted  by  for- 
tune, or  drifts  naturally  into  the  half -world,  always 
abundantly  recruited  from  such  as  she.  » 

Many  girls  have  a  certain  facility  in  the  arts  and 
crafts,  which,  with  severe  training,  might  fit  them  for 
a  second  place  in  the  class  which  owes  its  origin  to 
Heaven-born  gifts.  If  their  facility  manifests  itself  in 
writing  they  could  be  trained  at  college,  or  even  on 
the  small  local  newspaper  to  write  a  good  mechanical 
story,  constructed  out  of  popular  elements  and  emi- 
nently suited  to  the  popular  magazine.  Or  they  may 
fit  themselves  for  dramatic  or  musical  criticism,  or 
advertisement  writing,  which  pays  enormously  but  is 
not  as  easy  as  it  sounds.  Or  if  every  school  (I  am 
saying  nothing  about  girls'  colleges)  would  train  their 
promising  "composition"  writers  in  reporting,  their 
graduates  would  plant  their  weary  feet  far  more 
readily  than  they  do  now  when  they  come  to  a  great 
city  and  beseech  a  busy  editor  to  give  them  a  chance. 

Almost  anything  can  be  done  with  the  plastic  mind. 
But  not  always.  It  is  the  better  part  of  wisdom  for 
proud  parents  to  discover  just  what  their  offspring's 
facility  amounts  to  before  spending  money  on  an  art 
or  a  musical  education,  for  instance.  I  had  a  painful 
experience,  and  no  doubt  it  has  been  duplicated  a 
thousand  times,  for  Europe  before  the  war  was  full 


REAL  VICTIMS  OF  "SOCIETY"      267 

of  girls  (many  living  on  next  to  nothing)  who  were 
studying  "art"  or  "voice  culture,"  with  neither  the 
order  of  endowment  nor  the  propelling  brain-power 
to  justify  the  sacrifice  of  their  parents  or  the  waste  of 
their  own  time. 

Some  years  ago,  finding  that  a  young  relative,  who 
was  just  finishing  her  school  course,  drew  and  painted 
in  water  colors  with  quite  a  notable  facility,  and  the 
family  for  generations  having  manifested  talents  in 
one  way  or  another,  I  decided  to  take  her  abroad  and 
train  her  faculty  that  she  might  be  spared  the  humilia- 
tion of  dependence,  nor  feel  a  natural  historic  inclina- 
tion to  marry  the  first  man  who  offered  her  an  alterna- 
tive dependence;  and  at  the  same  time  be  enabled  to 
support  herself  in  a  wholly  congenial  way.  I  did  not 
delude  myself  with  the  notion  that  she  was  a  genius, 
but  I  thought  it  likely  she  would  become  apt  in 
illustrating,  and  I  knew  that  I  could  throw  any  amount 
of  work  in  her  way,  or  secure  her  a  position  in  the 
art  department  of  some  magazine. 

I  took  her  to  the  European  city  where  I  was  then 
living  and  put  her  in  the  best  of  its  art  schools.  To 
make  a  long  story  short,  after  I  had  expended  some 
five  thousand  dollars  on  her,  including  traveling  ex- 
penses and  other  incidentals,  the  net  result  was  an 
elongated  thumb.  I  was  forced  to  the  conclusion  that 
she  had  not  an  atom  of  real  talent,  merely  the  treach- 
erous American  facility.  Moreover,  she  lost  all  her 
interest  in  "art"  when  it  meant  hard  work  and  per- 
sistent application.  I  was  wondering  what  on  earth 


268  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

I  was  to  do  with  her  when  she  solved  the  problem 
herself.  She  announced  with  unusual  decision  that 
she  wanted  to  be  a  nurse,  had  always  wanted  to  be  a 
nurse  (she  had  never  mentioned  the  aspiration  to  me) 
and  that  nothing  else  interested  her.  Her  mother  had 
been  an  invalid;  one  way  or  another  she  had  seen  a 
good  deal  of  illness. 

Accordingly  I  sent  her  back  to  this  country  and 
entered  her,  through  the  influence  of  friends,  at  a  hos- 
pital. She  graduated  at  the  head  of  her  class,  and 
although  that  was  three  or  four  years  ago  she  has 
never  been  idle  since.  She  elected  to  take  infectious 
cases,  as  the  remuneration  is  higher,  and  although  she 
is  very  small,  with  such  tiny  hands  and  feet  that  while 
abroad  her  gloves  and  boots  had  to  be  made  to  order, 
no  doubt  she  has  so  trained  her  body  that  the  strains 
in  nursing  fall  upon  no  particular  member. 

In  that  case  I  paid  for  my  own  mistake,  and  she 
found  her  level  in  ample  time,  which  is  as  it  should 
be.  Of  what  use  is  experience  if  you  are  to  be  misled 
by  family  vanity?  As  she  is  pretty  and  quite  mad 
about  children,  no  doubt  she  will  marry ;  but  the  point 
is  that  she  can  wait;  or,  later,  if  the  man  should  prove 
inadequate,  she  can  once  more  support  herself,  and 
with  enthusiasm,  for  she  loves  the  work. 

To  be  a  nurse  is  no  bed  of  roses ;  but  neither  is  any- 
thing else.  To  be  dependent  in  the  present  stage  of 
civilization  is  worse,  and  nothing  real  is  accomplished 
in  life  without  work  and  its  accompaniment  of  hard 
knocks.  Nursing  is  not  only  a  natural  vocation  for 


REAL  VICTIMS  OF  "SOCIETY"      269 

a  woman,  but  an  occupation  which  increases  her  matri- 
monial chances  about  eighty  per  cent.  Nor  is  it  as 
arduous  after  the  first  year's  training  is  over  as  certain 
other  methods  of  wresting  a  livelihood  from  an  unwill- 
ing world — reporting,  for  instance.  It  is  true  that  only 
the  fit  survive  the  first  year's  ordeal,  but  on  the  other 
hand  few  girls  are  so  foolish  as  to  choose  the  nursing 
career  who  do  not  feel  within  themselves  a  certain 
stolid  vitality.  After  graduation  from  the  hospital 
course  their  future  depends  upon  themselves.  Doctors 
soon  discover  the  most  desirable  among  the  new  re- 
cruits, others  find  permanent  places  in  hospitals;  and, 
it  may  be  added,  the  success  of  these  young  women 
depends  upon  a  quality  quite  apart  from  mere  skill — 
personality.  In  the  spring  of  1915  I  was  in  a  hospital 
and  there  was  one  nurse  I  would  not  have  in  the 
room.  I  was  told  that  she  was  one  of  the  most 
valuable  nurses  on  the  staff,  but  that  was  nothing 
to  me. 

I  could  not  see  that  any  of  the  nurses  in  this  large 
hospital  was  overworked.  All  looked  healthy  and  con- 
tented. My  own  "night  special,"  save  when  I  had  a 
temperature  and  demanded  ice,  slept  from  the  time 
she  prepared  me  for  the  night  until  she  rose  to  pre- 
pare me  for  the  day,  with  the  exception  of  the  eleven 
o'clock  supper  which  she  shared  with  the  hospital 
staff.  Being  very  pretty  and  quite  charming  she  will 
marry,  no  doubt,  although  she  refuses  to  nurse  men. 
But  there  are  always  the  visiting  doctors,  the  internes, 
and  the  unattached  men  in  households,  where  in  the 


270  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

most  seductive  of  all  garbs,  she  remains  for  weeks  at 
a  time. 

In  fact  nearly  all  nurses  are  pretty.  I  wonder 
why? 

The  hospital  nurses  during  the  day  arrived  at  inter- 
vals to  take  my  temperature,  give  me  detestable  nour- 
ishment, or  bring  me  flowers  or  a  telephone  message. 
It  certainly  never  occurred  to  me  to  pity  any  of  them, 
and  when  they  lingered  to  talk  they  entertained  me 
with  pleasant  pictures  of  their  days  off.  They  struck 
me  as  being  able  to  enjoy  life  very  keenly,  possibly 
because  of  being  in  a  position  to  appreciate  its  con- 
trasts. 

I  know  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  and  historic 
family,  whose  head — he  is  precisely  the  type  of  the 
elderly,  cold-blooded,  self-righteous,  self-conscious 
New  York  aristocrat  of  the  stage — will  not  permit  her 
to  gratify  her  desire  to  write  for  publication,  "for," 
saith  he,  "I  do  not  wish  to  see  my  honored  name  on 
the  back  of  works  of  fiction." 

I  do  not  think,  myself,  that  he  has  deprived  the 
world  of  one  more  author,  for  if  she  had  fiction  in 
her  brain-cells  no  parental  dictum  could  keep  it  con- 
fined within  the  walls  of  her  skull;  but  the  point  is 
that  being  a  young  woman  of  considerable  energy  and 
mental  activity,  she  found  mere  society  unendurable 
and  finally  persuaded  her  father  to  make  her  one  of 
his  secretaries.  She  learned  not  only  stenography  and 
typewriting  but  telegraphy.  There  is  a  private  appar- 
atus in  their  Newport  home  for  her  father's  con- 


REAL  VICTIMS  OF  "SOCIETY"       271 

fidential  work,  and  this  she  manipulates  with  the  skill 
of  a  professional.  If  the  fortunes  of  her  family  should 
go  to  pieces,  she  could  find  a  position  and  support 
herself  without  the  dismal  and  health-racking  transi- 
tion which  is  the  fate  of  so  many  unfortunate  girls 
suddenly  bereft  and  wholly  unprepared. 


in 

The  snobbishness  of  this  old  gentleman  is  by  no 
means  a  prerogative  of  New  York's  "old  families." 
One  finds  it  in  every  class  of  American  men  above  the 
industrial.  In  Honore  Willsie's  novel,  Lydia  of  the 
Pines,  an  American  novel  of  positive  value,  the  father 
was  a  day  laborer,  as  a  matter  of  a  fact  (although  of 
good  old  New  England  farming  stock),  earning  a 
dollar  and  a  half  a  day,  and  constantly  bemoaning  the 
fact;  yet  when  "young  Lydia,"  who  was  obliged  to 
dress  like  a  scarecrow,  wished  to  earn  her  own  pin- 
money  by  making  fudge  he  objected  violently.  The 
itching  pride  of  the  American  male  deprives  him  of 
many  comforts  and  sometimes  of  honor  and  freedom, 
because  he  will  not  let  his  wife  use  her  abilities  and 
her  spare  time.  He  will  steal  or  embezzle  rather  than 
have  the  world  look  on  while  "his"  wife  ekes  out  the 
family  income.  The  determined  Frenchwomen  have 
had  their  men  in  training  for  generations,  and  the 
wife  is  the  business  partner  straight  up  to  the  haute 
bourgeoisie;  but  the  American  woman,  for  all  her 
boasted  tyranny  over  the  busy  male  of  her  land,  is 


272  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

either  an  expensive  toy  or  a  mere  household  drudge, 
until  years  and  experience  give  her  freedom  of  spirit. 
This  war  will  do  more  to  liberate  her  than  that  mild 
social  earthquake  called  the  suffrage  movement.  The 
rich  women  are  working  so  hard  that  not  only  do 
they  dress  and  entertain  far  less  than  formerly  but 
their  husbands  are  growing  quite  accustomed  to  their 
separate  prominence  and  publicly  admitted  usefulness. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  groups  of  women  in  less 
conspicuous  classes,  and  when  the  war  is  over  it  is  safe 
to  say  these  women  will  continue  to  do  as  they  please. 
There  is  something  insidiously  fascinating  in  work  to 
women  that  never  have  worked,  not  so  much  in  the 
publicity  it  may  give  but  in  the  sense  of  mental  ex- 
pansion; and,  in  the  instance  of  war,  the  passion  of 
usefulness,  the  sense  of  dedication  to  a  high  cause,  the 
necessary  frequent  suppression  of  self,  stamp  the  soul 
with  an  impress  that  never  can  be  obliterated.  That 
these  women  engaged  in  good  works  often  quarrel 
like  angry  cats,  or  fight  for  their  relief  organization  as 
a  lioness  would  fight  for  her  hungry  cub,  is  beside  the 
point.  That  is  merely  another  way  of  admitting  they 
are  human  beings;  not  necessarily  women,  but  just 
human  beings.  As  it  was  in  the  beginning,  is  now,  etc. 
Far  better  let  loose  their  angry  passions  in  behalf  of 
the  men  who  are  fighting  to  save  the  world  from  a 
reversion  to  barbarism,  than  rowing  their  dressmakers, 
glaring  across  the  bridge  table,  and  having  their  blood 
poisoned  by  eternal  jealousy  over  some  man. 

And  if  it  will  hasten  the  emancipation  of  the  Amer- 


REAL  VICTIMS  OF  "SOCIETY"      273 

ican  man  from  the  thralldom  of  snobbery  still  another 
barrier  will  go  down  in  the  path  of  the  average  woman. 
Just  consider  for  a  moment  how  many  men  are  fail- 
ures. They  struggle  along  until  forty  or  forty-five 
"on  their  own,"  although  fitted  by  nature  to  be  clerks 
and  no  more,  striving  desperately  to  keep  up  appear- 
ances— for  the  sake  of  their  own  pride,  for  the  sake 
of  their  families,  even  for  the  sake  of  being  "looked 
up  to"  by  their  wife  and  observant  offspring.  But 
without  real  hope,  because  without  real  ability  (they 
soon,  unless  fools,  outlive  the  illusions  of  youth  when 
the  conquest  of  fortune  was  a  matter  of  course)  al- 
ways in  debt,  and  doomed  to  defeat. 

How  many  women  have  said  to  me — women  in  their 
thirties  or  early  forties,  and  with  two  or  three  children 
of  increasing  demands:  "Oh,  if  I  could  help!  How 
unjust  of  parents  not  to  train  girls  to  do  something 
they  can  fall  back  on.  I  want  to  go  to  work  myself 
and  insure  my  children  a  good  education  and  a  start 
in  the  world,  but  what  can  I  do?  If  I  had  been 
specialized  in  any  one  thing  I'd  use  it  now  whether 
my  husband  liked  it  or  not.  But  although  I  have 
plenty  of  energy  and  courage  and  feel  that  I  could 
succeed  in  almost  anything  I  haven't  the  least  idea  how 
to  go  about  it." 

If  a  woman's  husband  collapses  into  death  or  desue- 
tude while  her  children  are  young,  it  certainly  is  the 
bounden  duty  of  some  member  of  her  family  to  sup- 
port her  until  her  children  are  old  enough  to  go  to 
school,  for  no  one  can  take  her  place  in  the  home  be- 


274  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

fore  that  period.  Moreover,  her  mind  should  be  as 
free  of  anxiety  as  her  body  of  strain.  But  what  a 
ghastly  reflection  upon  civilization  it  is  when  she  is 
obliged  to  stand  on  her  feet  all  day  in  a  shop  or  fac- 
tory, or  make  tempting  edibles  for  some  Woman's 
Exchange,  because  she  cannot  afford  to  spend  time 
upon  a  belated  training  that  might  admit  her  lucra- 
tively to  one  of  the  professions  or  business  industries. 

The  childless  woman  solves  the  problem  with  com- 
parative ease.  She  invariably  shows  more  energy  and 
decision,  provided,  of  course,  these  qualities  have  been 
latent  within  her. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  often  extraordinary  just  what  she 
does  do.  For  instance  I  knew  a  family  of  girls  upon 
whose  college  education  an  immense  sum  had  been 
expended,  and  whose  intellectual  arrogance  I  never 
have  seen  equalled.  When  their  father  failed  and 
died,  leaving  not  so  much  as  a  small  life  insurance, 
what  did  they  do?  Teach?  Write?  Edit?  Become 
some  rich  and  ignorant  man's  secretary?  Not  a  bit 
of  it.  They  cooked.  Always  noted  in  their  palmy 
days  for  their  "table,"  and  addicted  to  relieving  the 
travail  of  intellect  with  the  sedative  of  the  homeliest 
of  the  minor  arts,  they  began  on  preserves  for  the 
Woman's  Exchange;  and  half  the  rich  women  in 
town  were  up  at  their  house  day  after  day  stirring 
molten  masses  in  a  huge  pot  on  a  red-hot  range. 

It  was  Lsometime  before  they  were  taken  seriously, 
and,  particularly  after  the  enthusiasm  of  their  friends 
waned,  there  was  a  time  of  hard  anxious  struggle. 


REAL  VICTIMS  OF  "SOCIETY"      275 

But  they  were  robust  and  determined,  and  in  time 
they  launched  out  as  caterers  and  worked  up  a  first- 
class  business.  They  took  their  confections  to  the 
rear  entrances  of  their  friends'  houses  on  festive  occa- 
sions and  accepted  both  pay  and  tips  with  lively  grati- 
tude. They  educated  their  younger  brothers  and  lost 
their  arrogance.  They  never  lost  their  friends. 

Owing  to  dishonest  fiction  the  impression  prevails 
throughout  the  world  that  "Society"  is  heartless  and 
that  the  rich  and  well-to-do  drop  their  friends  the  mo- 
ment financial  reverses  force  them  either  to  reduce 
their  scale  of  living  far  below  the  standard,  or  go  to 
work.  When  that  happens  it  is  the  fault  of  the  re- 
versed, not  of  the  entrenched.  False  pride,  constant 
whining,  or  insupportable  irritabilities  gradually  force 
them  into  a  dreary  class  apart.  If  anything,  people 
of  wealth  and  secure  position  take  a  pride  in  standing 
by  their  old  friends  (their  "own  sort"),  in  showing 
themselves  above  all  the  means  sins  of  which  fiction 
and  the  stage  have  accused  them,  and  in  lending  what 
assistance  they  can.  Even  when  the  head  of  the 
family  has  disgraced  himself  and  either  blown  out  his 
brains  or  gone  to  prison,  it  depends  entirely  upon  the 
personalities  of  his  women  whether  or  not  they  retain 
their  friends.  In  fact  any  observant  student  of  life 
is  reminded  daily  that  one's  real  position  in  the  world 
depends  upon  personality,  more  particularly  if  backed 
by  character.  Certainly  it  is  nine-tenths  of  the  battle 
for  struggling  women. 

Another  woman  whom  I  always  had  looked  upon 


276  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

as  a  charming  butterfly,  but  who,  no  doubt,  had  long 
shown  her  native  shrewdness  and  determination  in  the 
home,  stepped  into  her  husband's  shoes  when  he  col- 
lapsed from  strain,  abetted  by  drink,  and  now  com- 
petes in  the  insurance  business  with  the  best  of  the 
men.  But  she  had  borne  the  last  of  her  children  and 
she  has  perfect  health. 

Galsworthy's  play,  The  Fugitive,  may  not  have  been 
good  drama  but  it  had  the  virtue  of  provoking  thought 
after  one  had  left  the  theater.  More  than  ever  it 
convinced  me,  at  least,  that  the  women  of  means  and 
leisure  with  sociological  leanings  should  let  the  work- 
ing girl  take  care  of  herself  for  a  time  and  devote 
their  attention  to  the  far  more  hopeless  problem  of 
the  lady  suddenly  thrown  upon  her  own  resources. 

No  doubt  this  problem  will  have  ceased  to  exist 
twenty  years  hence.  Every  girl,  rich  or  poor,  and 
all  grades  between,  will  have  specialized  during  her 
plastic  years  on  something  to  be  used  as  a  resource; 
but  at  present  there  are  thousands  of  young  women 
who  find  the  man  they  married  in  ignorance  an  im- 
possible person  to  live  with  and  yet  linger  on  in 
wretched  bondage  because  what  little  they  know  of 
social  conditions  terrifies  them.  If  they  are  pretty 
they  fear  other  men  as  much  as  they  fear  their  own 
husbands,  and  for  all  the  "jobs"  open  to  unspecialized 
women,  they  seem  to  be  preeminently  unfitted.  If  the 
rich  women  of  every  large  city  would  build  a  great 
college  in  which  every  sort  of  trade  and  profession 
could  be  taught,  from  nursing  to  stenography,  from 


REAL  VICTIMS  OF  "SOCIETY"      277 

retouching  photographs  to  the  study  of  law,  while  the 
applicant,  after  her  sincerity  had  been  established,  was 
kept  in  comfort  and  ease  of  mind,  with  the  under- 
standing that  she  should  repay  her  indebtedness  in 
weekly  installments  after  the  college  had  launched  her 
into  the  world,  we  should  have  no  more  such  ghastly 
plays  as  The  Fugitive  or  hideous  sociological  tracts  as 
A  Bed  of  Roses. 


IV 
ONE  SOLUTION  OF  A  GREAT  PROBLEM 


THE  world  is  willing  and  eager  to  buy  what  it 
wants.  If  you  have  goods  to  sell  you  soon  find 
your  place  at  the  counter,  unless  owing  to  some  fault 
of  character  your  fellow  barterers  and  their  patrons 
will  have  none  of  you.  Of  course  there  is  always  the 
meanest  of  all  passions,  jealousy,  waiting  to  thwart 
you  at  every  turn,  but  no  woman  with  a  modicum  of 
any  one  of  those  wares  the  world  wants  and  must 
have  need  fear  any  enemy  but  her  own  loss  of  courage. 

The  pity  is  that  so  many  women  with  no  particular 
gift  and  only  minor  energies  are  thrust  into  the  eco- 
nomic world  without  either  natural  or  deliberate 
equipment.  All  that  saves  them  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten  is  conserved  energies,  and  if  they  are  thrust  out 
too  young  they  are  doubly  at  a  disadvantage. 

A  good  deal  has  been  written  about  the  fresh  en- 
thusiasm of  the  young  worker,  as  contrasted  with  the 
slackened  energies  and  disillusioned  viewpoint  of 
middle  life.  But  I  think  most  honest  employers  will 
testify  that  a  young  girl  worker's  enthusiasm  is  for 
closing  time,  and  her  dreams  are  not  so  much  of  the 

278 


A  GREAT  PROBLEM  279 

higher  skilfulness  as  of  the  inevitable  man.  Nature 
is  inexorable.  She  means  that  the  young  things  shall 
reproduce.  If  they  will  not  or  cannot  that  is  not  her 
fault ;  she  is  always  there  with  the  urge.  Even  when 
girls  think  they  sell  themselves  for  the  adornments  so 
dear  to  youth  they  are  merely  the  victims  of  the  race, 
driven  toward  the  goal  by  devious  ways.  Nature,  of 
course,  when  she  fashioned  the  world  reckoned  with- 
out science.  I  sometimes  suspect  her  of  being  of 
German  origin,  for  so  methodical  and  mechanical  is- 
her  kultur  that  she  will  go  on  repeating  "two  and 
two  make  four"  until  the  final  cataclysm. 

I  think  that  American  women  are  beginning  to 
realize  that  American  men  are  played  out  at  forty-five ; 
or  fifty,  at  the  most.  There  are  exceptions,  of  course, 
but  with  the  vast  majority  the  strain  is  too  great  and 
the  rewards  are  too  small.  They  cannot  retire  in  time. 
I  have  a  friend  who,  after  a  brilliant  and  active  career, 
has  withdrawn  to  the  communion  of  nature  and  be- 
come a  philosopher.  He  insists  that  all  men  should 
be  retired  by  law  at  forty-five  and  condemned  to 
spend  the  rest  of  their  days  tilling  the  soil  gratis  for 
women  and  the  rising  generation.  The  outdoor  life 
would  restore  a  measure  of  their  dissipated  vitality 
and  prolong  their  lives. 

This  may  come  to  pass  in  time :  stranger  things  have 
happened.  But,  as  I  remarked  before,  it  is  the  present 
we  have  to  consider.  It  seems  to  me  it  would  be  a 
good  idea  if  every  woman  who  is  both  protected  and 
untrained  but  whose  husband  is  approaching  forty 


280  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

should,  if  not  financially  independent,  begin  seriously 
to  think  of  fitting  herself  for  self-support.  The  time 
to  prepare  for  possible  disaster  is  not  after  the  torpedo 
has  struck  the  ship. 

A  thousand  avenues  are  open  to  women,  and  fresh 
ones  open  yearly.  She  can  prepare  secretly,  or  try  her 
hand  at  first  one  and  then  another  (if  she  begins  by 
being  indeterminate)  of  such  congenial  occupations  as 
are  open  to  women  of  her  class,  beyond  cooking,  teach- 
ing, clerking.  Those  engaged  in  reforms,  economic 
improvements,  church  work,  and  above  all,  to-day,  war 
relief  work,  should  not  be  long  discovering  their 
natural  bent  as  well  as  its  marketable  value,  and  the 
particular  rung  of  the  ladder  upon  which  to  start. 

Many  women  whose  energies  have  long  been  ab- 
sorbed by  the  home  are  capable  of  flying  leaps.  These 
women  still  in  their  thirties,  far  from  neglecting  their 
children  when  looking  beyond  the  home,  are  merely 
ensuring  their  proper  nourishment  and  education. 

Why  do  not  some  of  the  public  spirited  women, 
whose  own  fortunes  are  secure,  form  bureaus  where 
all  sorts  of  women,  apprehensive  of  the  future,  may 
be  examined,  advised,  steered  on  their  way?  In  this 
they  would  merely  be  taking  a  leaf  from  the  present 
volume  of  French  history  its  women  are  writing.  It  is 
the  women  of  independent  means  over  there  who  have 
devised  so  many  methods  by  which  widows  and  girls 
and  older  spinsters  tossed  about  in  the  breakers  of 
war  may  support  themselves  and  those  dependent  upon 
them.  There  is  Mile.  Thompson's  £cole  Feminine,  for 


A  GREAT  PROBLEM  281 

instance,  and  Madame  Goujon's  hundred  and  one  prac- 
tical schemes  which  I  will  not  reiterate  here. 

Women  of  the  industrial  class  in  the  United  States 
need  new  laws,  but  little  advice  how  to  support  them- 
selves. They  fall  into  their  natural  place  almost  auto- 
matically, for  they  are  the  creatures  of  circumstances, 
which  are  set  in  motion  early  enough  to  determine 
their  fate.  If  they  do  hesitate  their  minds  are  quickly 
made  up  for  them  by  either  their  parents  or  their 
social  unit.  The  great  problem  to-day  is  for  the 
women  of  education,  fastidiousness,  a  certain  degree 
of  ease,  threatened  with  a  loss  of  that  male  support 
upon  which  ancient  custom  bred  them  to  rely.  Their 
children  will  be  specialized ;  they  will  see  to  that.  But 
their  own  problem  is  acute  and  it  behooves  trained  and 
successful  women  to  take  it  up,  unless  the  war  lasts  so 
long  that  every  woman  will  find  her  place  as  inevitably 
as  the  working  girl. 

II 

For  a  long  time  to  come  women  will  be  forced  to 
leave  the  administering  of  the  nation  as  well  as  of 
states  and  cities  to  men,  for  men  are  still  too  strong 
for  them.  The  only  sort  of  women  that  men  will 
spontaneously  boost  into  public  life  are  pretty,  bright, 
womanly,  spineless  creatures  who  may  be  trusted  to 
set  the  cause  of  woman  back  a  few  years  at  least, 
and  gratify  man's  own  sense  of  humorous  superiority. 

Women  would  save  themselves  much  waste  of 
energy  and  many  humiliations  if  they  would  devote 


282  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

themselves  exclusively  to  helping  and  training  their 
own  sex.  Thousands  are  at  work  on  the  problems  of 
higher  wage  and  shorter  hours  for  women  of  the  in- 
dustrial class,  but  this  problem  of  the  carefully 
nurtured,  wholly  untrained,  and  insecurely  protected 
woman  they  have  so  far  ignored.  To  my  mind  this 
demands  the  first  consideration  and  the  application  of 
composite  woman's  highest  intelligence.  The  indus- 
trial woman  has  been  trained  to  work,  she  learns  as 
she  grows  to  maturity  to  protect  herself  and  fight  her 
own  battles,  and  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  she  resents 
the  interference  of  the  leisure  class  in  her  affairs  as 
much  as  she  would  charity.  The  leaders  of  every 
class  should  be  its  own  strong  spirits.  And  the  term 
"class  consciousness"  was  not  invented  by  fashionable 
society. 

There  is  another  problem  that  women,  forced  im- 
minently or  prospectively  to  support  themselves,  must 
face  before  long,  and  that  is  the  heavy  immigration 
from  Europe.  Of  course  some  of  those  competent 
women  over  there  will  keep  the  men's  jobs  they  hold 
now,  and  among  the  widows  and  the  fatherless  there 
will  be  a  large  number  of  clerks  and  agriculturists. 
But  many  reformes  will  be  able  to  fill  those  positions 
satisfactorily,  and,  when  sentiment  has  subsided, 
young  women  at  least  (who  are  also  excellent  work- 
ers) will  begin  to  think  of  husbands ;  and,  unless  the 
war  goes  on  for  many  years  and  reduces  our  always 
available  crop,  American  girls  of  the  working  class 
will  have  to  look  to  their  laurels  both  ways. 


A  GREAT  PROBLEM  283 

in 

Here  is  the  reverse  of  the  picture,  which  possibly 
may  save  the  too  prosperous  and  tempting  United 
States  from  what  in  the  end  could  not  fail  to  be  a 
further  demoralization  of  her  ancient  ideals  and 
depletion  of  the  old  American  stock : 

No  matter  how  many  men  are  killed  in  a  war  there 
are  more  males  when  peace  is  declared  than  the  dead 
and  blasted,  unless  starvation  literally  has  sent  the 
young  folks  back  to  the  earth.  During  any  war  chil- 
dren grow  up,  and  even  in  a  war  of  three  years'  dura- 
tion it  is  estimated  that  as  against  four  million  males 
killed  there  will  be  six  million  young  males  to  carry 
on  the  race  as  well  as  its  commerce  and  industries. 
For  the  business  of  the  nation  and  high  finance  there 
are  the  men  whose  age  saved  them  from  the  dangers 
of  the  battlefield. 

There  will  therefore  be  many  million  marriageable 
men  in  Europe  if  the  war  ends  in  1917.  But  they  will, 
for  the  most  part,  be  of  a  very  tender  age  indeed,  and 
normal  young  women  between  twenty  and  thirty  do 
not  like  spring  chickens.  They  are  beloved  only  by 
idealess  girls  of  their  own  age,  by  a  certain  type  of 
young  women  who  are  alluded  to  slightingly  as  "crazy 
about  boys,"  possibly  either  because  men  of  mature 
years  find  them  uninteresting  or  because  of  a  certain 
vampire  quality  in  their  natures,  and  by  blasee  elderly 
women  who  generally  foot  the  bills. 

Dr.  Talcott  Williams  pointed  out  to  me  not  long 


284  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

since  that  after  all  great  wars,  and  notably  after  our 
own  Civil  War,  there  has  been  a  signal  increase  in 
the  number  of  marriages  in  which  the  preponderance 
of  years  was  on  the  wrong  side.  Also  that  it  was  not 
until  after  our  own  war  that  the  heroine  of  fiction 
began  to  reverse  the  immemorial  procedure  and  marry 
a  man  her  inferior  in  years.  In  other  words,  any- 
thing she  could  get.  This  would  almost  argue  that 
fiction  is  not  only  the  historian  of  life  but  its  apologist. 

It  is  quite  true  that  young  men  coming  to  maturity 
during  majestic  periods  of  the  world's  history  are  not 
likely  to  have  the  callow  brains  and  petty  ideals  which 
distinguished  the  average  youth  of  peace.  Even  boys 
of  fourteen  these  days  talk  intelligently  of  the  war  and 
the  future.  They  read  the  newspapers,  even  subscrib- 
ing for  one  if  at  a  boarding-school.  In  the  best  of  the 
American  universities  the  men  have  been  alive 
to  the  war  from  the  first,  and  a  large  proportion  of  the 
young  Americans  who  have  done  gallant  service  with 
the  American  Ambulance  Corps  had  recently  gradu- 
ated when  the  war  broke  out.  Others  are  serving  dur- 
ing vacations,  and  are  difficult  to  lure  back  to  their 
studies. 

Some  of  the  young  Europeans  of  eighteen  or  twenty 
will  come  home  from  the  trenches  when  peace  is  de- 
clared, and  beyond  a  doubt  will  compel  the  love  if 
not  the  respect  of  damsels  of  twenty-five  and  upward. 
But  will  they  care  whether  they  fascinate  spinsters  of 
twenty-five  and  upward,  or  not?  The  fact  is  not  to 
be  overlooked  that  there  will  be  as  many  young  girls 


A  GREAT  PROBLEM  285 

as  youths,  and  as  these  girls  also  have  matured  during 
their  long  apprenticeship  to  sorrow  and  duty,  it  is  not 
to  be  imagined  they  will  fail  to  interest  young  warriors 
of  their  own  age — nor  fail  to  battle  for  their  rights 
with  every  device  known  to  the  sex. 

Temperament  must  be  taken  into  consideration,  of 
course,  and  a  certain  percentage  of  men  and  women 
of  unbalanced  ages  will  be  drawn  together.  That 
happens  in  times  of  peace.  Moreover  it  is  likely  that 
a  large  number  of  young  Germans  in  this  country 
either  will  conceive  it  their  duty  to  return  to  Ger- 
many and  marry  there  or  import  the  forlorn  in  large 
numbers.  If  they  have  already  taken  to  themselves 
American  wives  it  is  on  the  cards  that  they  will  re- 
nounce them  also.  There  is  nothing  a  German  cannot 
be  made  to  believe  is  his  duty  to  the  Fatherland,  and 
he  was  brought  up  not  to  think.  But  if  monarchy 
falls  in  Germany,  and  a  republic,  socialistic  or  merely 
democratic,  rises  on  the  ruins,  then  it  is  more  than 
likely  that  the  superfluous  women  will  be  encouraged 
to  transfer  themselves  and  their  maidenly  dreams  to 
the  great  dumping-ground  of  the  world. 

Unless  we  legislate  meanwhile. 


V 

FOUR  OF  THE  HIGHLY  SPECIALIZED 

THERE  are  four  other  ways  in  which  women 
(exclusive  of  the  artist  class)  are  enjoying 
remunerative  careers:  as  social  secretaries,  play 
brokers,  librarians,  and  editors;  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  cannot  do  better  than  to  drop  generalities  in 
this  final  chapter  and  give  four  of  the  most  notable 
instances  in  which  women  have  "made  good"  in  these 
highly  distinctive  professions.  I  have  selected  four 
whom  I  happen  to  know  well  enough  to  portray  at 
length :  Maria  de  Barril,  Alice  Kauser,  Belle  da  Costa 
Greene,  and  Honore  Willsie.  It  is  true  that  Mrs. 
Willsie,  being  a  novelist,  belongs  to  the  artist  class, 
but  she  is  also  an  editor,  which  to  my  mind  makes  her 
success  in  both  spheres  the  more  remarkable.  To  edit 
means  hours  daily  of  routine,  details,  contacts,  me- 
chanical work,  business,  that  would  drive  most  writers 
of  fiction  quite  mad.  But  Mrs.  Willsie  is  exceptionally 
well  balanced. 

i 

MARIA  DE  BARRIL 

A  limited  number  of  young  women  thrown  abruptly 
upon  their  own  resources  become  social  secretaries  if 

286 


THE  HIGHLY  SPECIALIZED        287 

their  own  social  positions  have  insensibly  prepared 
them  for  the  position,  and  if  they  live  in  a  city  large 
enough  to  warrant  this  fancy  but  by  no  means  inac- 
tive post.  In  Washington  they  are  much  in  demand 
by  Senators'  and  Congressmen's  wives  suddenly  trans- 
lated from  a  small  town  where  the  banker's  lady  hob- 
nobbed with  the  prosperous  undertaker's  family,  to  a 
city  where  the  laws  of  social  precedence  are  as  rigid 
as  at  the  court  of  the  Hapsburgs  and  a  good  deal 
more  complicated.  But  these  young  women  must 
themselves  have  lived  in  Washington  for  many  years, 
or  they  will  be  forced  to  divide  their  salary  with  a 
native  assistant. 

The  most  famous  social  secretary  in  the  United 
States,  if  not  in  the  world,  is  Maria  de  Barril,  and 
she  is  secretary  not  to  one  rich  woman  but  to  New 
York  society  itself.  Her  position,  entirely  self-made, 
is  unique  and  secure,  and  well  worth  telling. 

Pampered  for  the  first  twenty  years  of  her  life  like 
a  princess  and  with  all  her  blood  derived  from  one  of 
the  oldest  and  most  relaxed  nations  in  Europe,  she 
was  suddenly  forced  to  choose  between  sinking  out 
of  sight,  the  mere  breath  kept  in  her  body,  perhaps, 
on  a  pittance  from  distant  relatives,  or  going  to  work. 

She  did  not  hesitate  an  instant.  Being  of  society 
she  knew  its  needs,  and  although  she  was  too  young 
to  look  far  ahead  and  foresee  the  structure  which  was 
to  rise  upon  these  tentative  foundations,  she  shrewdly 
began  by  offering  her  services  to  certain  friends  often 
hopelessly  bewildered  with  the  mass  of  work  they 


288  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

were  obliged  to  leave  to  incompetent  secretaries  and 
housekeepers.  One  thing  led  to  another,  as  it  always 
does  with  brave  spirits,  and  to-day  Miss  de  Barril  has 
a  position  in  life  which,  with  its  independence  and 
freedom,  she  would  not  exchange  for  that  of  any  of 
her  patrons.  She  conducted  her  economic  venture 
with  consummate  tact  from  the  first.  Owing  to  a 
promise  made  her  mother,  the  haughtiest  of  old  Span- 
ish dames  as  I  remember  her,  she  never  has  entered 
on  business  the  houses  of  the  society  that  employs  her, 
and  has  retained  her  original  social  position  apparently 
without  effort. 

She  has  offices,  which  she  calls  her  embassy,  and 
there,  with  a  staff  of  secretaries,  she  advises,  dictates, 
revises  lists,  issues  thousands  of  invitations  a  week 
during  the  season,  plans  entertainments  for  practically 
all  of  New  York  society  that  makes  a  business  of 
pleasure. 

Some  years  ago  a  scion  of  one  of  those  New  York 
families  so  much  written  about  that  they  have  become 
almost  historical,  married  after  the  death  of  his 
mother,  and  wished  to  introduce  his  bride  at  a  dinner- 
dance  in  the  large  and  ugly  mansion  whose  portals  in 
his  mother's  day  opened  only  to  the  indisputably  elect. 

The  bridegroom  found  his  mother's  list,  but,  never 
having  exercised  his  masculine  faculties  in  this  fashion 
before,  and  hazy  as  to  whether  all  on  that  list  were 
still  alive  or  within  the  pale,  he  wrote  to  the  sociaf 
ambassadress  asking  her  to  come  to  his  house  on  a 
certain  morning  and  advise  him.  Miss  de  Barril  re- 


THE  HIGHLY  SPECIALIZED        289 

plied  that  not  even  for  a  member  of  his  family,  devoted 
as  she  was  to  it,  would  she  break  her  promise  to  her 
mother,  and  he  trotted  down  to  her  without  further 
parley.  Moreover,  she  was  one  of  the  guests  at  the 
dinner. 

Of  course  it  goes  without  saying  that  Miss  de 
Barril  has  not  only  brains  and  energy,  but  character, 
a  quite  remarkably  fascinating  personality,  and  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  the  world.  Many  would  have 
failed  where  she  succeeded.  She  must  have  had  many 
diplomatists  among  her  ancestors,  for  her  tact  is  in- 
credible, although  in  her  case  Latin  subtlety  never  has 
degenerated  into  hypocrisy.  No  woman  has  more 
devoted  friends.  Personally  I  know  that  I  should 
have  thrown  them  all  out  of  the  window  the  first 
month  and  then  retired  to  a  cave  on  a  mountain.  She 
must  have  the  social  sense  in  the  highest  degree,  com- 
bined with  a  real  love  of  "the  world." 

Her  personal  appearance  may  have  something  to  do 
with  her  success.  Descended  on  one  side  from  the 
Incas  of  Peru,  she  looks  like  a  Spanish  grandee,  and 
is  known  variously  to  her  friends  as  "Inca,"  "Queen," 
and  "Dona  Maria" — rny  own  name  for  her.  When 
I  knew  her  first  she  found  it  far  too  much  of  an 
effort  to  pull  on  her  stockings  and  was  as  haughty  and 
arrogant  a  young  girl  as  was  to  be  found  in  the  then 
cold  and  stately  city  of  New  York.  She  looks  as 
haughty  as  ever  because  it  is  difficult  for  a  Spaniard 
of  her  blood  to  look  otherwise;  but  her  manners  are 
now  as  charming  as  her  manner  is  imposing;  and  if 


290  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

the  bottom  suddenly  fell  out  of  Society  her  developed 
force  of  character  would  steer  her  straight  into  an- 
other lucrative  position  with  no  disastrous  loss  of 
time. 

It  remains  to  be  pointed  out  that  she  would  have 
failed  in  this  particular  sphere  if  New  York  Society 
had  been  as  callous  and  devoid  of  loyalty  even  in 
those  days,  as  the  novel  of  fashion  has  won  its  little 
success  by  depicting  it.  The  most  socially  eminent  of 
her  friends  were  those  that  helped  her  from  the  first, 
and  with  them  she  is  as  intimate  as  ever  to-day. 

ii 
ALICE  BERTA  JOSEPHINE  KAUSER 

Credit  must  be  given  to  Elisabeth  Marbury  for  in- 
venting the  now  flourishing  and  even  over-crowded 
business  of  play  broker;  but  as  she  was  of  a  strongly 
masculine  character  and  as  surrounded  by  friends  as 
Miss  de  Barril,  her  success  is  neither  as  remarkable 
nor  as  interesting  as  that  of  Alice  Kauser,  who  has 
won  the  top  place  in  this  business  in  a  great  city  to 
which  she  came  poor  and  a  stranger. 

Not  that  she  had  grown  up  in  the  idea  that  she 
must  make  her  own  way  in  the  world.  Far  from  it. 
It  is  for  that  reason  I  have  selected  her  as  another 
example  of  what  a  girl  may  accomplish  if  she  have 
character  and  grit  backed  up  with  a  thorough  intel- 
lectual training.  For,  it  must  never  be  forgotten, 
unless  one  is  a  genius  it  is  impossible  to  enter  the  first 


THE  HIGHLY  SPECIALIZED        291 

ranks  of  the  world's  workers  without  a  good  educa- 
tion and  some  experience  of  the  world.  Parents  that 
realize  this  find  no  sacrifice  too  great  to  give  their 
children  the  most  essential  of  all  starts  in  life.  But 
the  extraordinary  thing  in  the  United  States  of 
America  is  how  comparatively  few  parents  do  realize 
it.  Moreover,  how  many  are  weak  enough,  even 
when  with  a  reasonable  amount  of  self-sacrifice  they 
could  send  their  children  through  college,  to  yield  to 
the  natural  desire  of  youth  to  "get  out  and  hustle." 

Miss  Kauser  was  born  in  Buda  Pest,  in  the  United 
States  Consular  Agency,  for  her  father,  although  a 
Hungarian,  was  Consular  Agent.  It  was  an  intel- 
lectual family  and  on  her  mother's  side  musically 
gifted.  Miss  Kauser's  aunt,  Etelka  Gerster,  when  she 
came  to  this  country  as  a  prima  donna  had  a  brief  but 
brilliant  career,  and  the  music-loving  public  pros- 
trated itself.  But  her  wonderful  voice  was  a  fragile 
coloratura,  and  her  first  baby  demolished  it.  Berta 
Gerster,  Miss  Kauser's  mother,  was  almost  equally  re- 
nowned for  a  while  in  Europe. 

Mr.  Kauser  himself  was  a  pupil  of  Abel  Blouet  at 
the  Beaux  Arts,  but  he  fought  in  the  Revolution  of 
1848  in  Hungary,  and  later  with  Garibaldi  in  the 
Hungarian  Legion  in  Italy. 

Miss  Kauser,  who  must  have  been  born  well  after 
these  stirring  events,  was  educated  by  French  gov- 
ernesses and  Polish  tutors.  Her  friends  tell  the  story 
of  her  that  she  grew  up  with  the  determination  to  be 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world,  and  when  she 


292  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

realized  that,  although  handsome  and  imposing,  she 
was  not  a  great  beauty  according  to  accepted  stand- 
ards, she  philosophically  buried  this  callow  ambition 
and  announced,  "Very  well;  I  shall  be  the  most  intel- 
lectual woman  in  the  world." 

There  are  no  scales  by  which  to  make  tests  of  these 
delicate  degrees  of  the  human  mind,  even  in  the  case 
of  authors  who  put  forth  four  books  a  year,  but  there 
is  no  question  that  Miss  Kauser  is  a  highly  accom- 
plished woman,  with  a  deep  knowledge  of  the  litera- 
ture of  many  lands,  a  passionate  feeling  for  style,  and 
a  fine  judgment  that  is  the  result  of  years  of  hard 
intellectual  work  and  an  equally  profound  study  of 
the  world.  And  who  shall  say  that  the  wild  ambitions 
of  her  extreme  youth  did  not  play  their  part  in  mak- 
ing her  what  she  is  to-day?  I  have  heard  "ambition" 
sneered  at  all  my  life,  but  never  by  any  one  who  pos- 
sessed the  attribute  itself,  or  the  imaginative  power  to 
appreciate  what  ambition  has  meant  in  the  progress 
of  the  world. 

Miss  Kauser  studied  for  two  years  at  the  ficole 
Monceau  in  Paris,  although  she  had  been  her  father's 
housekeeper  and  a  mother  to  the  younger  children 
since  the  age  of  twelve.  Both  in  Paris  and  Buda  Pest 
she  was  in  constant  association  with  friends  of  her 
father,  who  developed  her  intellectual  breadth. 

Financial  reverses  brought  the  family  to  America 
and  they  settled  in  Pensacola,  Florida.  Here  Miss 
Kauser  thought  it  was  high  time  to  put  her  accomplish- 
ments to  some  use  and  help  out  the  family  exchequer. 


THE  HIGHLY  SPECIALIZED        293 

She  began  almost  at  once  to  teach  French  and  music. 
When  her  brothers  were  older  she  made  up  her  mind 
to  seek  her  fortune  in  New  York  and  arrived  with 
a  letter  or  two.  For  several  months  she  taught  music 
and  literature  in  private  families.  Then  Mary  Bisland 
introduced  her  to  Miss  Marbury,  where  she  attended 
to  the  French  correspondence  of  the  office  for  a  year. 

But  these  means  of  livelihood  were  mere  makeshifts. 
Ambitious,  imperious,  and  able,  it  was  not  in  her  to 
work  for  others  for  any  great  length  of  time.  As 
soon  as  she  felt  that  she  "knew  the  ropes"  in  New 
York  she  told  certain  friends  she  had  made  that  she 
wished  to  go  into  the  play  brokerage  business  for  her- 
self. As  she  inspires  confidence — this  is  one  of  her 
assets — her  friends  staked  her,  and  she  opened  her 
office  with  the  intention  of  promoting  American  plays 
only.  Her  trained  mind  rapidly  adapted  itself  to  busi- 
ness and  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  she  was  handling 
the  plays  of  many  of  the  leading  dramatists  for  a 
proportionate  number  of  leading  producers.  When  the 
war  broke  out,  so  successful  was  she  that  she  had  a 
house  of  her  own  in  the  East  Thirties,  furnished  with 
the  beautiful  things  she  had  collected  during  her 
yearly  visits  to  Europe — for  long  since  she  had  opened 
offices  in  Paris  and  London,  her  business  outgrowing 
its  first  local  standard. 

The  war  hit  her  very  hard.  She  had  but  recently 
left  the  hospital  after  a  severe  operation,  which  had 
followed  several  years  of  precarious  health.  She  was 
quite  a  year  reestablishing  her  former  strength  and 


294  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

full  capacity  for  work.  One  of  the  most  exuberantly 
vital  persons  I  had  ever  met,  she  looked  as  frail  as  a 
reed  during  that  first  terrible  year  of  the  war,  but  now 
seems  to  have  recovered  her  former  energies. 

There  was  more  than  the  common  results  of  an 
operation  to  exasperate  her  nerves  and  keep  her  vital- 
ity at  a  low  ebb.  Some  thirty  of  her  male  relatives 
were  at  the  Front,  and  the  whole  world  of  the  theater 
was  smitten  with  a  series  of  disastrous  blows.  Sixteen 
plays  on  the  road  failed  in  one  day,  expensive  plays 
ran  a  week  in  New  York.  Managers  went  into  bank- 
ruptcy. It  was  a  time  of  strain  and  uncertainty  and 
depression,  and  nobody  suffered  more  than  the  play 
brokers.  Miss  Kauser  as  soon  as  the  war  broke  out 
rented  her  house  and  went  into  rooms  that  she  might 
send  to  Hungary  all  the  money  she  could  make  over 
expenses,  and  for  a  year  this  money  was  increasingly 
difficult  to  collect,  or  even  to  make.  But  if  she  de- 
spaired no  one  heard  of  it.  She  hung  on.  By  and  by 
the  financial  tide  turned  for  the  country  at  large  and 
she  was  one  of  the  first  to  ride  on  the  crest.  Her 
business  is  now  greater  than  ever,  and  her  interest 
in  life  as  keen. 

in 

BELLE  DA  COSTA  GREENE 

This  "live  wire,"  one  of  the  outstanding  person- 
alities in  New  York,  despite  her  youth,  is  the  anti- 
thesis of  the  two  previous  examples  of  successful 
women  in  business,  inasmuch  as  no  judge  on  the 


THE  HIGHLY  SPECIALIZED        295 

bench  nor  surgeon  at  the  Front  ever  had  a  severer 
training  for  his  profession  than  she.  People  who 
meet  for  the  first  time  the  young  tutelar  genius  of  Mr. 
Morgan's  Library,  take  for  granted  that  any  girl  so 
fond  of  society,  so  fashionable  in  dress  and  appoint- 
ments, and  with  such  a  comet's  tail  of  admirers,  must 
owe  her  position  with  its  large  salary  to  "pull,"  and 
that  it  is  probably  a  sinecure  anyway. 

Little  they  know. 

Belle  Greene,  who  arrests  even  the  casual  if  astute 
observer  with  her  overflowing  jole  de  vivre  and  im- 
presses him  as  having  the  best  of  times  in  this  best 
of  all  possible  worlds,  is  perhaps  the  "keenest  on  her 
job"  of  any  girl  in  the  city  of  New  York.  Let  any 
of  these  superficial  admirers  attempt  to  obtain  en- 
trance, if  he  can,  to  the  Library,  during  the  long  hours 
of  work,  and  with  the  natural  masculine  intention  of 
clinching  the  favorable  impression  he  made  on  the 
young  lady  the  evening  before,  and  he  will  depart  in 
haste,  moved  to  a  higher  admiration  or  cursing  the 
well-known  caprice  of  woman,  according  to  his  own 
equipment. 

For  Miss  Greene's  determination  to  be  one  of  the 
great  librarians  of  the  world  took  form  within  her 
precocious  brain  at  the  age  of  thirteen  and  it  has  never 
fluctuated  since.  Special  studies  during  both  school 
and  recreation  hours  were  pursued  to  the  end  in  view : 
Latin,  Greek,  French,  German,  history — the  rise  and 
spread  of  civilization  in  particular,  and  as  demon- 
strated by  the  Arts,  Sciences,  and  Literature  of  the 


296  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

world.  When  she  had  absorbed  all  the  schools  could 
give  her,  she  took  an  apprenticeship  in  the  Public 
Library  system  in  order  thoroughly  to  ground  herself 
in  the  clerical  and  routine  phases  of  the  work. 

She  took  a  special  course  in  bibliography  at  the 
Amherst  Summer  Library  School,  and  then  entered 
the  Princeton  University  Library  on  nominal  pay  at 
the  foot  of  the  ladder,  and  worked  up  through  every 
department  in  order  to  perfect  herself  for  the  position 
of  University  Librarian. 

While  at  Princeton  she  decided  to  specialize  in  early 
printing,  rare  books,  and  historical  and  illuminated 
manuscripts.  She  studied  the  history  of  printing  from 
its  inception  in  1445  to  the  present  day.  It  was  after 
she  had  taken  up  the  study  of  manuscripts  from  the 
standpoint  of  their  contents  that  she  found  that  it  was 
next  to  impossible  to  progress  further  along  that  line 
in  this  country,  as  at  that  time  we  had  neither  the  ma- 
terial nor  the  scholars.  She  has  often  expressed  the 
wish  that  there  had  been  in  her  day  a  Morgan  Library 
for  consultation. 

When  she  had  finished  the  course  at  Princeton  she 
went  abroad  and  studied  with  the  recognized  authori- 
ties in  England  and  Italy.  Ten  years,  in  fact,  were 
spent  in  unceasing  application,  what  the  college  boy 
calls  "grind,"  without  which  Miss  Greene  is  convinced 
it  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  succeed  in  any  vocation 
or  attain  a  distinguished  position.  To  all  demands  for 
advice  her  answer  is,  "Work,  work,  and  more  work." 

She  took  hold  of  the  Morgan  Library  in  its  raw 


THE  HIGHLY  SPECIALIZED        297 

state,  when  the  valuable  books  and  MSS.  Mr.  Morgan 
had  bought  at  sales  in  Europe  were  still  packed  in 
cases;  and  out  of  that  initial  disorder  Belle  Greene, 
almost  unaided,  has  built  up  one  of  the  greatest 
libraries  in  the  world.  Soon  after  her  installation 
she  began  a  systematic  course  in  Art  research.  She 
visited  the  various  museums  and  private  collections  of 
this  country,  and  got  in  touch  with  the  heads  of  the 
different  departments  and  their  curators.  She  fol- 
lowed their  methods  until  it  was  borne  in  upon  her 
that  most  of  them  were  antiquated  and  befogging, 
whereupon  she  began  another  course  in  Europe  during 
the  summer  months  in  order  to  study  under  the  ex- 
perts in  the  various  fields  of  art;  comparing  the  works 
of  artists  and  artisans  of  successive  periods,  applying 
herself  to  the  actual  technique  of  painting  in  its  many 
phases,  studying  the  influence  of  the  various  masters 
upon  their  contemporaries  and  future  disciples. 

By  attending  auction  sales,  visiting  dealers  con- 
stantly and  all  exhibitions,  reading  all  art  periodicals, 
she  soon  learned  the  commercial  value  of  art  objects. 

Thus  in  time  she  was  able  and  with  authority  to 
assist  Mr.  Morgan  in  the  purchase  of  his  vast  col- 
lections which  embraced  art  in  all  its  forms.  With  the 
exception  of  that  foundation  of  the  library  which 
caused  Mr.  Morgan  to  engage  her  services,  she  has 
purchased  nearly  every  book  and  manuscript  it  con- 
tains. 

Another  branch  of  the  collectors'  art  that  engaged 
Miss  Greene's  attention  was  the  clever  forgery,  a  busi- 


298  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

ness  in  itself.  She  even  went  so  far  as  to  buy  more 
than  one  specimen,  thus  learning  by  actual  handling 
and  examination  to  distinguish  the  spurious  from  the 
real.  Now  she  knows  the  difference  at  a  glance.  She 
maintains  there  is  even  a  difference  in  the  smell.  Mr. 
Morgan  bought  nothing  himself  without  consulting 
her;  if  they  were  on  opposite  sides  of  the  world  he 
used  the  cable. 

Naturally  Miss  Greene  to-day  enjoys  the  entree  to 
that  select  and  jealously  guarded  inner  circle  of  au- 
thorities, who  despise  the  amateur,  but  who  recognize 
this  American  girl,  who  has  worked  as  hard  as  a  day 
laborer,  as  "one  of  them."  But  she  maintains  that  if 
she  had  not  thoroughly  equipped  herself  in  the  first 
place  not  even  the  great  advantages  she  enjoyed  as 
Mr.  Morgan's  librarian  could  have  given  her  the 
peculiar  position  she  now  enjoys,  a  position  that  is 
known  to  few  of  the  people  she  plays  about  with  in 
her  leisure  hours. 

She  has  adopted  the  mottoes  of  the  two  contempor- 
aries she  has  most  admired :  Mr.  Morgan's  "Onward 
and  Upward"  and  Sarah  Bernhardt's  "Quand  Meme." 

IV 

HONOR£  WILLSIE 

Honore  Willsie,  who  comes  of  fine  old  New  Eng- 
land stock,  although  she  looks  like  a  Burne-Jones  and 
would  have  made  a  furore  in  London  in  the  Eighties, 
was  brought  up  in  the  idea  that  an  American  woman 


THE  HIGHLY  SPECIALIZED        299 

should  fit  herself  for  self-support  no  matter  what  her 
birth  and  conditions.  Her  mother,  although  the 
daughter  of  a  rich  man,  was  brought  up  on  the  same 
principles,  and  taught  school  until  she  married.  All 
her  friends,  no  matter  how  well-off,  made  themselves 
useful  and  earned  money. 

Therefore,  Mrs.  Willsie  was  thoroughly  imbued 
while  a  very  young  girl  with  the  economic  ideal,  al- 
though her  mother  had  planted  with  equal  thorough- 
ness the  principle  that  it  was  every  woman's  primary 
duty  to  marry  and  have  a  family. 

Mrs.  Willsie  was  educated  at  Madison,  Wisconsin, 
beginning  with  the  public  schools  and  graduating  from 
the  University.  She  married  immediately  after  leav- 
ing college,  and,  encouraged  by  her  husband,  a  sci- 
entist, and  as  hard  a  student  as  herself,  she  began  to 
write.  Her  first  story  followed  the  usual  course;  it 
was  refused  by  every  magazine  to  which  she  sent  it; 
but,  undiscouraged,  she  rewrote  it  for  a  syndicate.  For 
a  year  after  this  she  used  the  newspapers  as  a  sort  of 
apprenticeship  to  literature  and  wrote  story  after 
story  until  she  had  learned  the  craft  of  "plotting." 
When  she  felt  free  in  her  new  medium  she  began  writ- 
ing for  the  better  magazines ;  and,  compared  with  most 
authors,  she  has  had  little  hard  climbing  in  her  upward 
course.  Naturally,  there  were  obstacles  and  setbacks, 
but  she  is  not  of  the  stuff  that  ten  times  the  number 
could  discourage. 

Then  came  the  third  stage.  She  wrote  a  novel.  It 
was  refused  by  many  publishers  in  New  York,  but 


300  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

finally  accepted  as  a  serial  in  the  first  magazine  that 
had  rejected  it. 

This  was  The  Heart  of  the  Desert.  After  that  fol- 
lowed Still  Jim  which  established  her  and  paved  the 
way  for  an  immediate  reception  for  that  other  fine 
novel  of  American  ideals,  Lydia  of  the  Pines. 

It  was  about  two  years  ago  that  she  was  asked 
to  undertake  the  editorship  of  the  Delineator,  and  at 
first  she  hesitated,  although  the  "job"  appealed  to  her; 
she  had  no  reason  to  believe  that  she  possessed  execu- 
tive ability.  The  owner,  who  had  "sized  her  up," 
thought  differently,  and  the  event  has  justified  him. 
She  ranks  to-day  as  one  of  the  most  successful,  cour- 
ageous, and  resourceful  editors  of  woman's  magazines 
in  the  country.  The  time  must  come,  of  course,  when 
she  no  longer  will  be  willing  to  give  up  her  time  to 
editorial  work,  now  that  there  is  a  constant  demand 
for  the  work  she  loves  best;  but  the  experience  with 
its  contacts  and  its  mental  training  must  always  have 
its  value.  The  remarkable  part  of  it  was  that  she 
could  fill  such  a  position  without  having  served  some 
sort  of  an  apprenticeship  first.  Nothing  but  the  sound 
mental  training  she  had  received  at  home  and  at  col- 
lege, added  to  her  own  determined  will,  could  have 
saved  her  from  failure  in  spite  of  her  mental  gifts. 

Mrs.  Willsie,  like  all  women  worth  their  salt,  says 
that  she  never  has  felt  there  was  the  slightest  dis- 
crimination made  against  her  work  by  publishers  or 
editors  because  she  was  a  woman. 


ADDENDUM 

NOTE. — Six  months  ago  I  wrote  asking  Madame  d'Andigne"  to 
send  me  notes  of  her  work  before  becoming  the  President  of  Le  Bien- 
Etre  du  Blesse.  She  promised,  but  no  woman  in  France  is  busier. 
The  following  arrived  after  the  book  was  in  press,  so  I  can  only 
give  it  verbatim. — G.  A . 

At  the  time  this  gigantic  struggle  broke  out  I  was  in  America. 
My  first  thought  was  to  get  to  France  as  soon  as  possible.  I 
sailed  on  August  2nd  for  Cherbourg  but  as  we  were  pursued  by 
two  German  ships  our  course  was  changed  and  I  landed  in  Eng- 
land. After  many  trials  and  tribulations  I  reached  Paris.  The 
next  day  I  went  to  the  headquarters  of  the  French  Red  Cross 
and  offered  my  services.  I  showed  the  American  Red  Cross 
certificate  which  had  been  given  to  me  at  the  end  of  my  services 
at  Camp  Meade  during  the  Spanish-American  War.  As  I  had 
had  practically  little  surgical  experience  since  the  course  I  took 
at  the  Rhode  Island  Hospital  before  the  Spanish-American  War 
I  asked  to  take  a  course  in  modern  surgery.  I  was  told  that  my 
experience  during  that  war  and  my  Red  Cross  certificate  was 
more  than  sufficient.  After  serious  reflection  I  decided  that  I 
could  render  more  service  to  France  by  getting  in  the  immense 
crops  that  were  standing  in  our  property  in  the  south  of  France 
than  by  nursing  the  wounded  soldiers.  Far  less  glorious  but  of 
vital  importance!  So  off  I  went  to  the  south  of  France.  By  the 
middle  of  October  thousands  of  kilos  of  cereals  and  hay  and  over 
20,000  hectoliters  of  wine  were  ready  to  supply  the  army  at  the 
front.  I  then  spent  my  time  in  various  hospitals  studying  the 

301 


302  THE  LIVING  PRESENT 

up-to-date  system  of  hospital  war  relief  work.  It  was  not  diffi- 
cult to  see  the  deficiencies — the  means  of  rapidly  transporting 
the  wounded  from  the  "postes  de  secours"  to  an  operating  table 
out  of  the  range  of  cannons — in  other  words  auto-ambulances 
— impossible  to  find  in  France  at  that  time.  So  I  cabled  to  Amer- 
ica. The  first  was  offered  by  my  father.  It  was  not  until  Jan- 
uary that  this  splendid  spacious  motor-ambulance  arrived  and 
was  offered  immediately  to  the  French  Red  Cross.  Presently 
others  arrived  and  were  offered  to  the  Service  de  Sante.  These 
cars  have  never  ceased  to  transport  the  wounded  from  the  Front 
lines  to  hospitals  in  the  War  Zone.  I  heard  of  one  in  the  north 
and  another  in  the  Somme.  This  work  finished,  I  took  up  duty 
as  assistant  in  an  operating  room  in  Paris  to  get  my  hand  in.  I 
next  went  to  a  military  hospital  at  Amiens.  This  hospital  was 
partly  closed  soon  afterward,  and,  anxious  to  have  a  great  deal 
of  work,  I  went  to  the  military  hospital  at  Versailles. 

The  work  in  the  operating  room  was  very  absorbing,  as  it  was 
there  that  that  wonderful  apparatus  for  locating  a  bullet  by 
mathematical  calculation  was  invented  and  first  used.  There, 
between  those  four  white  walls  I  have  seen  bullets  extracted  from 
the  brain,  the  lungs,  the  liver,  the  "vesicule  biliaire,"  etc.,  etc. 

From  there  I  was  called  to  a  large  military  hospital  at  the  time 
of  the  attack  in  Champagne  in  September,  1915.  Soon  I  was 
asked  to  organize  and  superintend  the  Service  of  the  Mussulman 
troops.  At  first  it  was  hard  and  unsatisfactory.  I  spoke  only  a 
few  words  of  Arabic  and  they  spoke  but  little  French.  I  had 
difficulty  in  overcoming  the  contempt  that  the  Mussulmans  have 
for  women.  They  were  all  severely  wounded  and  horribly  muti- 
lated, but  the  moral  work  was  more  tiring  than  the  physical. 

However,  little  by  little  they  got  used  to  me  and  I  to  them. 
We  became  the  best  of  friends  and  I  never  experienced  more 
simple  childlike  gratitude  than  with  these  "  Sidis. "  I  remember 
one  incident  worth  quoting.  I  was  suffering  from  a  severe  grippy 


ADDENDUM  303 

cold — they  saw  that  I  was  tired  and  felt  miserable.  I  left  the 
ward  for  a  few  moments.  On  returning  I  found  that  they  had 
pushed  a  bed  a  little  to  one  side  in  a  corner  and  had  turned  down 
the  bed-clothes  and  placed  a  hot-water  jug  in  it  (without  hot 
water).  The  occupant  was  a  Moroccan  as  black  as  the  ace  of 
spades;  he  was  trepanned  but  was  allowed  up  a  certain  number 
of  hours  a  day.  "Maman," — they  all  called  me  Maman — 
"toi  blessee,  toi  ergut  (lie  down)  nous  tubibe  (doctor)  nous  firmli 
(nurse)."  And  this  black,  so-called  savage,  Moroccan  took  up 
his  post  beside  the  bed  as  I  had  often  done  for  him.  I  explained 
as  best  as  I  could  that  I  would  have  to  have  a  permission  signed 
by  the  Medecin-Chef,  otherwise  I  would  be  punished;  and  the 
Medecin-Chef  had  left  the  hospital  for  the  night.  He  shook 
his  wise  black  head,  "Maman  blessee,  Maman  blessee!" 

One  called  me  one  day  and  asked  me  what  my  Allah  was  like. 
I  told  him  I  thought  he  was  probably  very  much  like  his.  Well! 
if  my  Allah  was  not  good  to  me,  theirs  would  take  care  of  me, 
they  would  see  to  that. 

In  May,  1916,  I  was  asked  to  organize  a  war  relief  work*  at 
the  request  of  the  Service  de  Sante.  This  work  was  to  provide  the 
"grands  blesses  et  malades"  with  light  nourishing  food,  in  other 
words,  invalid  food.  The  rules  and  regulations  of  the  French 
military  hospitals  are  not  sufficiently  elastic  to  allow  the  admin- 
istering of  such  food.  In  time  of  war  it  would  be  easier  almost 
to  remove  Mt.  Blanc  than  to  change  these  rules  and  regulations. 
There  was  just  one  solution — private  war  relief  work. 

So,  with  great  regret,  I  bade  good-bye  to  these  children  I  never 
would  have  consented  to  have  left  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact 
that  I  knew  from  experience  how  necessary  was  the  war  relief 
work  which  was  forced  upon  me,  as  I  had  seen  many  men  die 
from  want  of  light  nourishing  food. 


*Le  Bien-iStre  du  Blessd. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  f 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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